


Lost in Translation

by BenevolentErrancy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Humour, Injury, Insecurity, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenevolentErrancy/pseuds/BenevolentErrancy
Summary: There are things you never need to hear your brother say and among that list is anything pertaining to him blatantly and shamelessly flirting with a good friend.Especially when said brother is flirting exclusive in a language said friend doesn't understand.If Hanzo doesn't get over himself and just straight out ask to kiss McCree in English Genji is going to personally kill them both, he shouldn't be forced to be in the middle of this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "[In which Hanzo flirts with Mccree, but only in Japanese](https://overwatch-kink.dreamwidth.org/679.html?thread=235175#cmt235175)", a prompt fill from the kmeme
> 
> Tip: in case it's not obvious, while italics are used for emphasis as well, if you see characters speaking for any length of time entirely in italics, it's meant to show another language is being spoken. So like, 90% of the italics you see repressent Japanese being spoken by Hanzo The Idiot

“ _If you do not stop playing around with that belt I am going to whip it off you and press you down against the nearest table._ ”

Genji nearly fell off his stool.

Now, Genji was self-aware enough to acknowledge that in his misguided youth he had been more than a little wild. He had sought all the pleasures the body (and Hanamura) could offer, without thought or repentance. And it was more than likely that during his shameless escapades he had possibly regaled Hanzo with an anecdote or two more than he would have liked to have heard. (Okay, a lot more than one or two but what was an stiff older brother good for if not riling up?)

Still, there were things you _never_ needed to hear your brother say, especially in a crowded cafeteria, and this was one of them.

“Genji, are you alright?” he heard Mei ask from around a mouthful of her lunch but he was too busy awkwardly clambering about, trying to keep himself from falling wholly to the floor while still twisting around to figure out _what the actual fuck?_

A short ways across the room sat Hanzo. He already had a tray of food in front of him (something curry, according to Mei, though if Lena's and Satya's respective expressions of cheer and horror were anything to go by, it wasn't necessarily very _authentic_ curry) but Hanzo was mostly prodding at it, his focus wholly turned to McCree.

McCree who was leaning against the table Winston and Ana were sitting at, tugging at his belt.

“I swear these pants just aren't doing it for me,” McCree was saying, as he pulled at the jeans yet again, resettling them on his hips. “Belt loops are too small, I reckon, belt don't fit properly. It's pinching something fierce.”

And Hanzo... Genji watched Hanzo's eyes dip as McCree shimmied about in his pants, unmistakingly focusing directly on... Oh god. Genji swore he could feel his brain short circuiting. There was no way he was ever getting the image of his brother staring directly at McCree's wiggling, jean-covered ass out of his head _ever again._ No, worse than that, with Hanzo's words still crashing in his head like a claxon, Genji realized he was never going to get rid of the mental image of _McCree_ , who had been all but a brother to him during his troubled years in Overwatch, and _his actual literal brother_ doing _that_ out of his mind _ever again_.

Completely oblivious to Genji who was currently resisting the urge to dry heave some distance away from her, Ana just shook a fork at McCree's ever-constant, ever-garish belt buckle and told him, “Some people may consider this a sign to get a different belt.”

McCree just snorted. “Yeah, nah, the pants have to go.”

“ _Please,_ ” muttered Hanzo into his curry, and Genji felt his eyes bulge, darting immediately back towards McCree to see if he heard– he _had_ to have heard, Hanzo was only a table away and he wasn't talking that quietly and–

And he was speaking Japanese.

“Genji?” Mei said again, tapping at his shoulder.

“Ah, right, my apologies, Mei. My brother was just... saying something funny.” He said, turning back around – he neither felt like playing witness to whatever weird, repressed game his brother was currently engaged in, nor did he feel like being _caught_ playing witness.

“Oh, does he know how to do that?” she asked with mock sincerity that made Genji chuckle.

No, best to put whatever that little exchange was entirely from his mind.

-

Except, as it turned out, this was not in fact a one off affair in which Hanzo temporarily forgot he didn't have a sense of humour. No, it kept going, and Genji could only assume it had likewise been happening before he'd accidentally stumbled into the middle of it. It wasn't always even grossly inappropriate, which honestly, somehow, just made it weirder. That first time Genji had managed to eavesdrop on the triple-X version, but Hanzo kept speaking Japanese to McCree and it was often surprisingly... sweet.

Which was actually possibly more unsettling than that whole thing about fucking McCree against a table.

Honestly, Genji hasn't heard this many Japanese endearments since he had been forced to spend half a summer with his cousin and her new fiancé; it was vaguely nauseating, especially given that the damn hypocrite use to roll his eyes and gripe at him for wasting time whenever he caught Genji sitting texting the various amorous encounters of his youth.

Now it was impossible to hear the way Hanzo would mutter a “thank you” when McCree passed him something (be it a plate of food in the kitchen or a misplaced tablet) without some soft endearment being tacked on the end, or hear the way Hanzo lavished compliments on him (after taking a successful shot on a mission, after making a particularly good meal, after simply stretching in a way that made the muscles on his back pop) but only so long as he knew no one else would be able to understand them. If Genji didn't know Hanzo as well as he did, he might have wondered if this was just some sort of strange game with a scoring system Genji couldn't fathom – as it was, Genji wasn't always sure if this was something that amused Hanzo or hurt him. All he knew for sure was that whatever _this_ was, it was becoming a habit, a habit of remarking on McCree's flushed cheeks or beaming smile or easy affection in such a way that the cowboy was just left scratching his head, unsure what to make of the Japanese that was periodically directed at him. Genji also knew that catching Hanzo at it was becoming uncomfortably like a habit for himself.

-

“ _If I may kiss you, look up now,_ ” Hanzo said, making Genji consider doing an immediate heel-turn and marching straight back out of the room he had just entered.

He'd come looking for Hanzo, having just received a rumour of possible movement of a branch of the Shimada clan, and had come in to find Hanzo stretched across the rec rooms loveseat with his bow in his lap while McCree sat at the table, work at fixing the stitching along his hat's brim.

As soon as the words left Hanzo's mouth though McCree did look up, confused, and ask “What, sorry, were you talkin' to me? Or were you muttering to yourself again?”

From where Genji was standing he could just see the tips of Hanzo's ears go red past the hair. “I do not 'mutter to myself',” he said coolly. “And no, I was not speaking to you; I have better things to do than chat with gossipy Americans.”

Genji could smack Hanzo. He should have just gone in for the kiss and saved them all at lot of trouble.

“Really? 'Cause it seems to be each time I look up I'm the one catching you staring at me like I'm some adder you personally found curled in your boot.”

“ _Perhaps if you did not incessantly lick your lips while you work you wouldn't keep driving me to distraction_ ,” Hanzo muttered, turning back to his bow. “Return to your work, McCree.”

McCree caught Genji's eyes at that point and mouthed a confused _what?_ at him, gesturing exasperated at Hanzo.  Genji could relate. Instead he just shrugged helplessly at McCree and immediately backtracked – he would find Hanzo later to talk to, rather than leave himself to mire in the tension of that room.

-

Of course it didn't take long for McCree to realize he was subjected to a lot of muttered Japanese around Hanzo. Instead of realizing that obviously meant Genji's grouchy brother apparently had a big, gross crush on him, he became quite convinced that Hanzo was taking shots at him. Which... was actually entirely fair, given that Hanzo seemed to have a resting bitch-face at the best of times, and half the time he was speaking Japanese to McCree he sounded like he was personally offended by the man – and Genji honestly did not know if that was Hanzo trying to cover up his feelings or his brother having the social graces of a rock.

One time it succeeded in getting so under McCree's skin that they both started going at it, Hanzo in Japanese, McCree in Spanish. For the rest of the day McCree went around the base refusing to speak any English and driving half the team up the wall.

While Genji didn't have the faintest idea what McCree was saying (nothing interesting, according to Lúcio, just the normal stuff, though he said it hastily enough that Genji couldn't help but be skeptical) he nearly lost it when he came across his brother with his arms crossed, staring McCree. The fact that they looked like they were about to have a standoff wasn't so unusual in and of itself, but _was_ unusual was that while they both were snapping at each other in angry tones, Genji knew for a fact that Hanzo was reciting, in the most deadpan voice imaginable, a popular Japanese love song that had hit the charts a couple months back. Genji had had to beat a hasty retreat at that point, otherwise he might have cracked a rib from trying to not laugh in Hanzo's face; as it was he nearly collapsed on Hana when he turned the corner and wasn't able to contain himself any longer. It nearly killed him not to explain, as Hana demanded to know what had happened, that he had just witnessed his brother spit “ _You make my heart flutter like summer grass_ ” at McCree like he was threatening his family.

-

Another time it had been after a windswept visit to the Canadian coast, which had left them all drenched and buffeted after spending too much time on a wild goose chase along the ocean's edge. They'd ended up collectively agreeing to book a couple of rooms at a local hotel rather than try to walk back to the dropship. Their room was to be shared between himself and Hanzo – who, it was decided, could share the large bed in the room by virtual of having shared beds plenty growing up and knowing each others' sleeping habits, with McCree to take the smaller single bed. By the time Genji realized exactly what he was getting into, there was little he could do – Winston, Tracer, and Zenyatta were taking the other room, as Winston would need the large bed to himself, Tracer had agreed to take the single in that room, and Zenyatta simply needed a safe corner to tuck himself away in before powering down to recharge. The only person he could possibly trade positions with to escape the Room of Palpable Tension was Tracer and there was no way to go about it that would raise suspicions that he couldn't answer.

Still, the evening had started off well enough given that there was a brief scuffle over who would get shower first – Genji was eager to scrape the mud and sand out of his joints before it hardened while McCree was bemoaning frozen toes that would surely fall of any moment (and Hanzo had had the audacity to glance at McCree and suggest in Japanese “ _If you wish to warm up, we could share the shower. It would surely speed things along as well_ ” and honestly Genji had wished McCree could accept if for no other reason than sooner being able to get in the shower and let hot water loosen the grime on his body and relax the stiffness in his body where flesh met metal. Some may argue that encouraging your friend to shag your brother for shower priveledges to be unethical though, so with some resignition, Genji ignored Hanzo and acquiesced the bathroom space. Asides from that, it was surprisingly pleasant. He and Hanzo were still learning to share space again, and the chance to simply sit and chat while McCree showered was a welcome one, and the promise of having McCree's boisterous, amicable attitude to soon join them to act as a mediator brought a great sense of balance and calmness to Genji's soul.

That calmness didn't last though, not when Hanzo, sitting on the floor while he waited for his turn in the shower, was attempting to pick a comb through the wild knot his hair had become in the wind and McCree decided it was time to make another appearance.

“Need any help with that, pardner?” McCree asked as he stepped out of the bathroom. With low riding, flannel pants on his hips, and nothing but a towel around his shoulder, Genji didn't even need to look at Hanzo to know what his expression was surely doing.

To his surprise though, Hanzo agreed with McCree rather than brushing him off or immediately darting into the shower as an excuse to hide, and Genji tried not to watch as McCree settled down behind Hanzo, took the comb, and began working his way through the dark hair with much more gentleness than Hanzo had been showing it.

“You've got mighty soft hair,” McCree commented, dragging a hand through it as he tried to loosen the knots. “Nothing like mine, mine's as coarse as a hedgehog's ass, I swear. Can't do a damn thing with it. Now yours, yours is real nice.”

If Genji thought Hanzo might take the opportunity to voice some of his own thoughts, in English this time, he would have been very disappointed.

“ _Your hands feel so nice,_ ” Hanzo murmured, voice almost sleepy; indeed he looked more relaxed than Genji could remember seeing him in a long time. “ _Don't stop_.”

Genji decided that now was the moment to retreat into the shower himself, and drown out the both of them, and any more unfortunate Japanese that Hanzo might spew, with a nice, warm cascade of water. Not that it would last long though, as far as repreives went. He was, after all, stuck in the Room of Palpable Tension. And, of course, since McCree couldn't understand a word Hanzo was saying he did, indeed, stop as soon as Genji had emerged from drying off his joints. Once he could run the comb through without a problem, McCree patted Hanzo's head like a dog and told him, “There ya go, pretty as a peach.”

Now, as much as Genji wanted nothing more than to block out any images of his brother and McCree being _domestic_ together Genji found, as he sat on the single bed in an attempt at his nightly meditation, that he couldn't get the image from his head. It was vaguely nauseating. Though not as nauseating as Hanzo, the man who was a ruthless negotiator and brilliant heir to a criminal enterprise, being so incompetent at such a stupid, simple thing. Either because he was more of a masochist than he realized or because he was The Best Brother Ever, Genji decided he couldn't just allow these two idiots to continue – Hanzo was nothing if not stubborn after all, and the last thing Genji wanted was to live out the rest of his days with Overwatch bearing witness to Hanzo's ridiculousness. So Genji waited until McCree was playing around with the TV in their room while Hanzo showered and took that opportunity to “fall asleep” on the single bed.

It was over an hour before this was noticed by the other two, and by the time Hanzo was trying to poke him awake so McCree could have his bed Genji simply lay still, as unnaturally still as only his cyborg body would allow, and kept his lights powered off, mimicking a deep, impenetrable sleep. Zenyatta of course would have seen through him in an instance, but Hanzo still got awkward and prickly about what had happened and hadn't bothered to learn much about how Genji's body actually worked now.

“Aw, let the fellow sleep,” McCree ended up saying. “That other bed's plenty big for the two of us. Don't worry, I don't snore.”

_Don't make me regret this_ , Genji thought desperately, while adamantly not so much as twitching.

There was a long pause before Hanzo huffed, “You'd better not.”

Genji tried not to listen to the shuffling of what could only be his brother and McCree getting ready for bed before any residual light in the room disappeared, plunging it all into a deep darkness, broken only by the sounds of two people trying to get comfortable in the same bed.

“Not crowding you, am I?” McCree asked in a whisper that seemed to fill the room.

“No. It's fine.” And then, in Japanese, “ _You're warm. It's... not unpleasant._ ”

“Not sure about that last bit, but so long as you're not thinking about kicking me off the bed I suppose we're good.”

“Do you always talk so much before going to sleep?”

“What, is now a bad time to ask if you want to paint my toes?”

Hanzo huffed a soft laugh at that, but silence settled soon afterwards like a thick, warm blanket. Finally, with no further developments forthcoming, Genji had no choice but to power off and recharge before morning came around. Maybe, just maybe, his meddling had done some good here and the morning would dawn bright and new and promising with McCree and Hanzo no longer being idiots.

(Naturally, the morning would consist of neither party acknowledging the previous night and while Genji hadn't exactly been expecting them to have some sort of sleepover confessional, he had hoped that literally sleeping cuddled up together would succeed in loosening Hanzo's stubborn tongue. Alas, it wasn't to be.)

-

 


	2. Chapter 2

There was really only so much a soul could be expected to take, Genji concluded one evening after he stumbled into the kitchen in search of a glass of water and found the two of them sitting together in a corner lit only by the stove's light. They were eating, of all things, what looked like chili. McCree wasn't necessarily a surprise to find, Genji had long ago gotten use to the man's insatiable appetite and penchant for midnight snacking, and he supposed Hanzo shouldn't be a surprise either given that in his youth Hanzo had been prone enough to stress keeping him awake that he could often have been found strolling the halls of the family estate at all hours – something a younger brother learns quickly when he has a tendency to slip back into the house at two am.

What Genji really didn't need though when he was his systems were still in night-time idle mode and he felt tired as sin, was to walk in on them sitting knee-to-knee on the dirty kitchen floor and hear Hanzo saying at length in a low voice to his bowl of chilli how good McCree's cooking was. Because _dammit all Hanzo_ , McCree was damn pleased with his own cooking and would puff up like a egotistical pigeon if anyone so much as thanked him for a meal – at this point Genji was certain that if McCree could hear the praise Hanzo was offering that he might actually start _cooing_. But while the scene was nauseating enough in and of itself, what really made Genji's patience shatter was the realization that he had officially lost count of how many times he'd caught his brother at this bullshit.

“Howdy there, Genji. Come to join us?”

“Just come for a drink,” Genji mumbled, edging around the side of the room. Honestly, he really would have preferred not to have been noticed at all, but Hanzo's eyes were on him now. He did not look pleased about having his (not at all romantic, I'm _sure_ ) midnight snack with McCree interrupted.

McCree seemed ignorant to his companion's suddenly soured mood.

“ _Come on_. There's enough spice in this puppy that even you'll probably be able to taste it.”

Genji laughed a little uncomfortably. He and Hanzo _really_ did not talk about Genji's more mechanical components and he didn't feel like half-one in the morning was a good time to get into it. “Not without a tongue, I won't. I keep telling you...”

A glance at Hanzo confirmed that his expression had twisted from one of a man interrupted by his sibling at an inopportune moment to one sharper, darker – grief perhaps, or guilt, or maybe even disgust. Even seeing Genji as he was, all shiny and sleek, he wasn't sure if Hanzo had really accepted the extent of what had been done.

“An' I keep telling _you_ that's only because that synthetic tongue that Angela whipped up hasn't had anything as fantastic as my chili. There's still a whole pot left, you know I'm shit at cooking for one person.”

Before Genji could answer and make excuses to leave though, Hanzo stood and put his empty bowl in the sink. “I think,” he said, “I at least had best retire. I wished to make use of the gym tomorrow before it becomes overly busy. Thank you, McCree, for the meal and the company.”

“Aw, come on, a third person means this can officially become a party. I think I've got a good bottle a' whiskey we can bring out...”

“No, thank you. Good evening, McCree.” Before he left though, Hanzo paused in the door for just a moment. “ _...I will treasure this time. Thank you, you have brought me more ease tonight than you can imagine._ ” But McCree had also gotten up and was rustling around looking for tupperware for his chili, and Genji doubted he'd even noticed Hanzo had said anything before he disappeared out the door.

“Don't you ever get curious, when he keeps speaking Japanese around you?” Genji said when he couldn't contain it anymore.

“Hm? Well, sure, I supposed. I dunno, there's enough folk here that speak some'in' other than English that I barely notice it. Usually I figure he's just think aloud, like Angela gets when she can't figure some problem or another out, or Torby when he's cussing out his turrets. ...Or one of us who made the mistake of touching his turrets.” McCree chuckled. “Why, should I be curious?”

Genji hastily turned back to the sink to get his water, relieved not for the first time that it was now impossible to see him getting red and flustered.

“I don't know. Just seems rude of him, talking around people who can't understand him. Thought you might call him on it.”

“Nah, a man deserves his privacy, I supposed. After enough time in Blackwatch, you really start to appreciate that. If he's got something that's any of my business, he'lll say it to my face, I've no doubt. Your brother doesn't strike me of the sort to hold his tongue.”

“If only,” Genji grumbled to himself, before excusing himself with his water.

If Hanzo was being so immature that even Jesse McCree expected better of him, then it was time Genji attempt to drag Hanzo's head out of his ass.

-

That opportunity came on a flight back from Dorado. It had been a remarkably easy mission, all injuries were quickly patched up by Angela, and McCree had spent most of the walk back to the dropship insisting they should celebrate by spending the afternoon down by the bay, at one of the little cafés along the water's edge. Hanzo had watched that exchange with interest and though this time at least he managed to refrain from speaking any Japanese, he also didn't need to for Genji to feel the waves of interest rolling off him. In the end, Genji fell quickly back to walk alongside Angela so he could ignore it.

Back on the ship though, where there was no longer anywhere to hide, Hanzo had spent the bulk of the trip mumbling to himself under his breath. While there was no way McCree could have heard from where he sat on the other end of the ship chatting with Tracer it didn't stop Hanzo's incessant Japanese.

“ _I saw a tea shop that perhaps you might be interested in. In the town. Obviously, it would hardly be on the base, would it? Ugh. Does he even drink tea? Perhaps coffee, instead, that is certainly very.... American. Hm. I could always ask him first. 'Do you care for tea? If so, I was considering venturing down to a tea shop I saw in town, and you would be welcome to accompany me.' What if he_ doesn't _like tea though? I can hardly ask him down if he says no. Damn it, I should have found a coffee shop instead. And what purpose would he have in accompanying me regardless, I would hardly need his help to carry back a couple boxes of tea, and it is much simpler to get food from the kitchen if we were hungry. Bah!_ ”

Genji pretended as hard as he could to be focused on checking his body for any dents or scratches that would need attention. Like he had been for the past half an hour as he listened to Hanzo's recital to himself, as it went from suggesting swimming back at Gibraltar if McCree was so keen on it, to quickly diverting back to the safer realm of a coffee date. Not that Hanzo had once referred to it as a date.

Genji had asked more people on dates than he could honestly begin to count; he had no idea what Hanzo was finding so difficult about the whole process – at the moment the only roadblock was the fact that he refused to speak a shared language. He continued on like this, repeating himself, stumbling over his words in a way Genji had never heard before, trying a dozen ways to ask one person – a good friend at that who was sitting not more than six feet away – a single, simple question. At this point, really, Genji considered it a cry for help. And he could take no more of it.

“ _Just ask him!_ ” Genji finally cried.

Hanzo just glared at him, like he was personally offended that Genji too happened to understand and speak Japanese.

“ _Seriously, brother, this is getting painful. You were the head of our clan, you grew up negotiating with crime lords, I'm sure you can figure out the appropriate way to ask your crush out for drinks! Which, in case you were wondering, whatever..._ this _is you're doing, it is_ not _the appropriate way!_ ”

With the way Hanzo bristled at the word “crush” Genji really shouldn't have expected a better response. “ _As if you have any right to preach to me about appropriate conduct_ ,” Hanzo hissed, eyes snapping back towards McCree as if somehow Genji acknowledging The Crush would grant McCree the ability to suddenly understand everything they were saying.

Genji was not so easily dismissed, never had been, much to Hanzo's eternal frustration growing up. “ _I think I'm slightly more qualified than you, since when I want to jump someone's bones I tell them to their face in, you know, a language they can at least understand. You would be amazed how much that speeds up the process, brother_.”

“ _I am not looking for speed_ ,” Hanzo snapped, turning on Genji before pausing, realizing belatedly that he had allowed a rise to be worked out of him. With a sigh, his shoulders lowered and Hanzo said coolly, “ _I am not looking for anything from Jesse McCree_.”

So that's how it was going to be, then? Time to pull out the big guns then. “ _So that thing you said about wanting to lick his entire_ –”

“ _Enough!_ ” Hanzo snapped, though Genji was rather self-satisfied to see the tips of Hanzo's ears bright red – good, let him feel an iota of the embarrassment Genji had been suffering at his hands recently. “ _I want nothing that the cowboy can or would want to give, are you happy? Unlike you, I understand what a working relationship means, and I will not jeopardize it on childish antics_.”

Right, Hanzo Shimada would _never_ stoop so low as to engage in “childish antics”. Like whispering sweet nothings to your crush in a foreign language– oh wait. Genji's eyes rolled unseen. “As you say, brother,” he said dryly, reverting back to English.

It wasn't easy to ignore someone when you're strapped into a flying metal box with them, but Hanzo did a good job of looking away and focusing back on his arrows, his expression thunderous. Good to know that his brother was, indeed, still the master of repression. But perhaps this was appropriate recompense for all the years Hanzo had spent admonishing Genji on the habits of his youth.

“Are you two alright?” Angela asked softly from Genji's right, concern evident in her voice.

“Don't worry,” he assured you. “You almost certainly won't have to build me a new body over this. Just having an... exchange of ideas. I told him my ideas, and my dear brother told me to exchange them.”

Angela gave him an uncertain smile, and no more was said about it. Another point to Hanzo.

-

For a while Hanzo must have either forced himself to stop his secret flirting or paid a mind not to let Genji overhear seeing as he was Hanzo's weak link, and the next major incident after The Discussion didn't happen until a couple weeks later when Genji was in the shooting range with McCree. Genji was practicing with a selection of guns, under McCree's instruction, when Hanzo strolled in with his bow and quiver strung over his back. By now it was becoming par for course that if McCree and his brother were in the same room for longer than about ten minutes, Hanzo would inevitably begin flirting. Or what he seemed to think was flirting, calling it as such was little generous as far as Genji was concerned. Still, in this particular instance, Genji felt safe – when there was training to be done, nothing distracted Hanzo from his duties.

“I don't see how you can be so good with those little twinkle stars of yours but can't manage a good old fashion gun,” McCree was saying, as the two of them stared down at the sad spread of Genji's bullets.

“I was not given guns to play with in my formative years,” Genji replied dryly.

That gave McCree pause as he eyeballed Genji, clearly trying to parse out if he was joking under that mask or not. “Were you given...?”

“They were rubber,” said Genji with a smirk. “At least until I was old enough to be trusted not to cut myself. The guns didn't come along until I was a teenager.”

“Did you ever reach that level of trust?” Hanzo asked, making Genji start and McCree chuckle.

Genji had assumed Hanzo would continue on his way to one of the open ranges; he hadn't expected Hanzo to stop. Nothing distracted Hanzo from training, _nothing_. Except, apparently, lingering near Jesse McCree. Genji shot a glance at McCree, because surely even if he didn't understand Hanzo's Japanese he must understand _this_. This was a louder, bolder, clearer declaration of his interests than anything else Hanzo had tried to date. When McCree made no sign of having noticed though, Genij once again gave in, and allowed himself to be drawn into banter with his brother instead.

“Get out your sword and we can take the mats in the gym; we will see who can be trusted,” Genji suggested.

“Or you could get a bow?” said Hanzo, raising an eyebrow. “Have you even touched one since you were fifteen?” When Genji didn't immediately answer Hanzo turned to McCree with an exaggerated sigh. “He was happier gallivanting across every corner of the town rather than give any serious concentration to his studies. The number of times I had to find him and drag him out of that filthy arcade...”

McCree laughed at that. “I'd say I have a hard time seeing it, but I've seen him and Hana go at it on their games. Still, if someone had told me when I was ten that I could learn to use a sword rather than sit in a classroom I'd've kissed 'em.”

“ _If you wish to learn the art of the sword so badly, all you need do is ask._ ”

Genji rolled his eyes so hard he thought it must be visible even though the mask.

“You're really making me wish I'd paid more attention when Genji'd tried to teach me Japanese all those years ago, y'know that, pardner?” he said plaintively. “What was that you said?”

“I said you already seem quite proficient with firearms, and I'm not sure a sword would fit the... ah, aesthetic you are attempting to achieve.”

McCree shrugged in a agreement, smirking. “'Spose that's true. And the ninja aesthetic is already taken twice over, I suppose; Overwatch is frankly a little over-saturated even without my help.”

“I would say Hanzo is more of a samurai than a ninja. Less subtle. More stupid,” Genji said, very pointedly, staring down Hanzo who glowered back.

“Ha! Don't worry, darlin', at least you're the pretty one,” said McCree, slapping Hanzo's arm good-naturedly, before turning back to Genji with the pistols.

Genji was too busy gawking at Hanzo in disbelief – his brother's face was red. His brother was _blushing_. Not just a little around the ears from Genji being vulgar, but honest-to-god _blushing_ because Jesse McCree had called him pretty.

“ _Not so pretty as you,_ ” Hanzo muttered, low and gruff and definitely to himself, before turning and stomping off to the other end of the range.

Definitely less subtle and more stupid. But as far as Genji was concerned, this was a point in his court.

-

The one time when Genji had genuinely thought, for just a moment, that maybe, _maybe_ one or the other might manage to talk about whatever was going on between them with some semblance of maturity and mutual understanding happened during a period of down time. While Winston and Morrison and a smattering of the other senior agents were humming and hawing over plans, the rest of them had time to recuperate, repair equipment, and generally just let off some steam – it was the longest period of inactivity that Genji had had since the Recall, since he and Zenyatta had essentially arrived at Gibraltar and hit the ground running with Overwatch only just reinstated and already stretched thin. Everyone else was being run just as ragged, and while Hanzo had been recruited some time after Genji (after, he was sure, Angela or Winston or someone was able to decide if one or the other was liable to fly off the handle if forced into the same room as his brother) others, like McCree, had returned even before Genji. Now as the week stretched on with no new missions McCree seemed to melt into the furniture with relief, happily throwing energy previously spent on mission prep, performance, and recover on getting under the skin of everyone in the base. It was a good thing he was as charming as he was or Genji would have no idea how he survived this long, but every night that he started a video game tournament or insisted on a barbeque people seemed to flock around him, drawn by his relentless cheer and energy.

It was one such evening when Genji found himself in one of the rec rooms, book in hand, amid a crowd of teammates who'd decided the best way to relax was among friends. Hana, Lúcio, and Junkrat were piled haphazardly on the one loveseat in the small room, watching... Genji wasn't sure what. Some sort of reality show from the looks of it which seemed to involve a lot of hooting and hollering from the three of them. Fareeha and Angela were at the table behind the loveseat, technically playing a card game though given the way Fareeha kept getting distracted by the TV (and Angela's sighs every time it happened), Genji assumed she was a little more invested in whatever was happening than she would like to admit. McCree was also there, in a sagging armchair that had long ago given up the fight against supporting Reinhardt's bulk, and was cheering along with the others as someone on the screen started screaming.

There was a peace to it, one that Genji gravitated towards much more naturally then Zenyatta. While Zenyatta was all for personal connections and friendships, he knew his master took great pleasure from his moments of solitude and stillness, when the world was like a pond yet untroubled by the wind. And while Genji had come to understand and cherish that tranquility, upon returning to Gibraltar he was surprised to find how much he had missed the calm at the eye of a social storm, how much he liked simply being among the chaos of people, a single still stone watching and participating, no matter how passively. So Genji would have been happy to simply coexist among the bustle and noise of his friends – his family – with his book out and concentration pleasantly divided between the words and room, until Hanzo, who'd glancing between a tablet in his hands and the screen with increasingly exasperated looks, demanded at McCree, “How can you watch this garbage?”

“What, this? S'hilarious,” said McCree, fanning himself with his hat after nearly doubling over with laughter.

“It's trite, superficial banality.”

McCree raised an eyebrow. “You reading a thesaurus on that screen or something? That supposed to be more fun than – what'd'ya call it? – 'banality'?”

“It is pointless–”

McCree just shrugged good-naturedly and turned back to the screen. “Shit don't always have to make a lot of sense to be fun. Sure, everyone knows it's all over-acted and stupid, but it doesn't stop it from being good. S'just an experience, I guess; it's worth it just because it _is_ , if that makes a lick of sense.”

McCree may have turned his focus back to the screen but Genji's focus stayed solely fixed on the real entertainment in the room: Hanzo's face. He was staring at the back of McCree's head like... well, like he'd just gone from watching trash reality TV to waxing philosophical in a southern drawl and that, somehow, had managed to pierce Hanzo's heart. He looked at McCree like he'd hung the stars in the sky. Or, more probably, like all of a sudden he would really, really like to share that cramped, sagging chair with him.

Naturally, McCree missed all of this, as something seemed to explode on the screen in that exact moment that sent the spectators into laughing fits – Junkrat, with his long legs spread from one end of the loveseat to the other nearly bucked Lúcio right off it as he wheezed with laughter, and McCree had thrown his head back, his laugh rich and clear and ringing. Hanzo just pressed his head against his palms, like he was in physical pain.

“ _You have the most beautiful laugh,_ ” he whispered into his palms.

Somehow, over the noise of the TV and their teammates, McCree must have heard him, because he then turned to Genji and, with a hand over his heart, asked, “Look, Genji, you're my friend, a comrade-in-arms, right? So tell me straight: is your brother calling me a hopeless simpleton, or just a straight up asshole?”

Genji had to try to remember the breathing exercises Zenyatta had taught him long ago to calm himself enough not to scream at them both. “Why don't you ask him yourself?” Genji managed instead, trying to ignore Hanzo's death glare. _Please_ , he narrowly avoided begging, _please ask him, puh-lease._

McCree just chuckled at that. “No thank you, sir. I like living.” And with that turned back to the TV, thus ensuring that while the interpersonal drama of the show may wrap up in the next twenty minutes, Genji could see no end in sight for the real time drama he was mired in now.

So another point for Hanzo, though Genji bitterly hoped he realized he wasn't winning anything like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk I really hope other people are enjoying this??  
> I mean they're kinda pointless little episodic things but they're mostly written for my own amusement so hopefully other people think they're kinda fun... there should be one more chapter like this before things pick up a little. Six chapters is my current estimate for how long this story will be, I've written four and a bit so far, so it really depends on whether or not I'll manage to wrap up everything in that last chapter or if I'll need another, or an epilogue or something idk idk  
> also sorry, this took way longer to get posted than I meant it to. I got sick then fell behind in coursework and yeah honestly ask anyone who's read any other long fic written by me - I suck at updating regularly. oops.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, if his brother was so far gone that he was whispering sweet nothings out loud, foreign language or no, then Genji supposed there was only so much tether left on Hanzo's self-restraint. Or so Genji tried to console himself; this couldn't go on forever. Back when they were children he'd never known Hanzo to do anything without intent, so he was confident that Hanzo wouldn't have even let this much slide unless he had already decided on a plan of action. Surely if he was still waffling about whether or not to pursue McCree he would have simply stayed silent – no, it just be a matter of time and working up the nerve, of that much Genji was positive. (Seriously, if anyone wrote out schedules and mission statements complete with strategies and back up plans for a romp in the metaphoric hay, it would be Hanzo.) Pretty soon Hanzo would stop being a damn coward and just say this to McCree's face and then Genji could go back to not being forced to play witness to what amounted to emotional homicide. Surely. _Surely._

-

Except if there was one thing Genji had learnt over his years of self-discovery and introspection and forgiveness, it was that Hanzo was also the king of repression. Genji had first learnt this lesson as a child who was constantly being reprimanded and cut off by his oh-so-serious brother. He had learnt it again, with more depth and understanding, as he had sat with Zenyatta among Nepal's frozen peaks, reflecting on his previous life as a man might poke a raw, painful wound; he had come to learn just how much Hanzo too had chafed beneath the yoke of the Shimada clan and it had been a key step in Genji's acceptance. Again, he had learnt it when he had sought out his brother for the first time in years and found his brother more willing to fight him than try to come to terms with his own actions, their consequences, and how neither fit the narrow little narrative he'd constructed for them during the time he believed Genji to be dead.

And he was learning it again, now, in the middle of a damn mission.

Look, he was hardly Commander Morrison, alright? He knew how to let loose, have a little fun – hell, it had driven his father and brother up the wall as a child. But still, there were _lines_ , and being forced to contemplate your brother's sex life not ten minutes after being shot at repeatedly was one of those lines.

“Anyone else feelin' a little like swiss cheese?” came McCree's voice from down the comm line.

“Are you alright, Jesse?” Angela asked from wherever she was hidden.

“Not bad, not bad,” McCree said. “Wouldn't mind a shot of the glow stick, but nothin' permanent. Anyone keepin' score by the way? 'Cause I reckon after taking out that tank I should get some sort of bonus.”

“What have I said about keeping comm chatter cut except for mission relevant information?” Commander Morrison snapped.

“Aw, boss, you'd miss my voice,” McCree crooned, making Genji shake his head as he crept along the high beams of the sprawling warehouse they were holed down in. The first thing their team had done before making this strike was cut all the but the emergency lighting, so Genji could now creepy unseen among the rafters, quietly scoping out the positions of their remaining enemies, as well as trying to get an eye for where the team had scattered after that firefight.

“Only one way to find out,” said Morrison.

“ _I would miss it,_ ” said Hanzo. “ _I would love to hear what I could make it call out._ ”

Genji paused in his creeping, and for a single moment seriously just considered throwing himself off the roof and taking his chances with open fire.

“Am I being teamed up on?” McCree demanded. “Is that what this is? Can't even afford me the dignity of cussing me out in a language I understand? You wound me Hanzo, _wound_ me.”

“ _You have no idea what you do to me,_ ” was his brother's frustratingly morose response. _You know how he could have an idea, so just maybe you could stop moping about it,_ Genji thought testily, _because I do. Idiot._

Before Genji was forced to do anything drastic though, Morrison cut in again. “I don't know what the fuck you're going on about, but I'll wound _both_ of you if the chatter isn't cut. Now.”

At that moment Genji caught sight of one of their black clad enemies creeping towards where Angela was hidden, and he offered up a brief prayer of thanks before dropping silently down to get back to work.

-

Given how spectacularly his last attempt at a conversation went, Genji kept praying for someone else to understand and call Hanzo on it, though he knew that it wasn't simply unlikely, but near impossible. There had been precious few people in the original Overwatch who'd spoken Japanese – a fact that had forced him to improve on his spotty English, and quickly at that – and no one who had so far answered the Recall could, to Genji's knowledge.

In fact, Genji had nearly written it off as a hopeless case until one evening he and Zenyatta were strolling among the cliffs that overlooked the Alboran Sea when they came across Hanzo and McCree, who had set up what looked like a pseudo shooting range with small, coloured balls tethered to branches of a tree that hung out over the cliff. Though Genji felt little of the wind anymore, if the way it was picking up and ushering in dark clouds from over the sea was anything to go by a storm would be blowing in by the evening; while this had compelled him and Zenyatta to go for a walk before being stuck inside until it blew over, it seemed McCree and Hanzo had decided to take the opportunity to set up a contest in which their targets bounced and darted on the wind.

“I'm telling ya,” McCree was saying, “I'll get it straight through that red one and with my eyes closed.”

Hanzo snorted – not the derisive one Genji had heard frequently growing up training along side his brother, but something softer, amused. “And I am telling you it is impossible.”

At that, McCree just rolled his shoulder, pulled his hat down so it covered his face, whipped out his gun and shot. The red target snapped back from the force of the bullet; Genji was undeniably amazed – how could anyone have hit that with their eyes covered? A stationary target, maybe, or one moving with a clear trajectory, but one simply dancing to the whimsy of the wind?

Hanzo was similarly amazed and he gaped at McCree, who lifted his hat with a cocky smirk.

“We should've bet money on it,” McCree crowed.

“ _You are a marvel,_ Hanzo murmured, voice low enough that it almost got lost in the wind. “ _How have I never met a single man like you?_ ”

Zenyatta's soft, amused “oh my,” completely stole Genji's attention from the two idiots by the cliff.

“You can understand him too,” Genji realized aloud. “How could I not have– oh thank goodness someone else does.”

How could Genji have not realized it? He _knew_ Zenyatta understood Japanese, it was only that they so rarely spoke it together that it had completely escaped him. Zenyatta had chosen to download the language program shortly after Genjii had wound up in Nepal, hoping that a familiar language would help him open up (it hadn't, at the time hearing fluent Japanese only served to remind him of the home that had been cut from him). It only made sense that he had kept it stored in his memory banks – given the monk's philosophy of interpersonal relationships it was obvious for him to understand as many languages as he could. More importantly though: _Genji didn't need to suffer alone_.

“I take it your brother's apparent... admiration for Jesse McCree is not a new development?” Zenyatta asked, seeing Genji's shock and relief written across his body.

“'Admiration' is not the word I would use. But yeah, he hasn't stopped for several weeks now.”

“And am I right to assume McCree remains unaware of this sentiment?”

Genji glanced towards where the other two men stood, as if hoping that somehow, over the wind, McCree may have heard Zenyatta and taken the hint. Instead he saw his brother walking close to McCree, expression warm and admiring and for a wild, hopeful moment Genji though _they're going to kiss_. Whatever was about to happen though, Hanzo stopped abruptly and narrowed his eyes, before reaching out and snatching the hat off of McCree's head only to...

To stick a finger straight through a hole in it that must have been shot through on their last outing.

“You could see it this entire time!” Hanzo shouted over the wind, tossing the hat aside. “Filthy cheat!”

“Whoops,” McCree laughed, ducking under Hanzo's arms to try to rescue his hat.

With a groan Genji turned away with a shake of his head. Looping arms with Zenyatta, the two of them began their way back to the base just as the first drops of rain began to fall.

“You're right,” he told Zenyatta, “Jesse doesn't have a damn clue.”

It wasn't until some time later that evening when he and Zenyatta had sequestered themselves away in Genji's room that Genji realized that he didn't just have someone to share the awkwardness of the entire situation, but he may perhaps have a _plan_.

“So, you understand Japanese, Master.”

Zenyatta, from where he hovered near window watching the nearly black streaks of rain cascade down it, inclined his head. “I do, as you know.”

“Right, right, but you can understand everything Hanzo is saying.”

Now, Zenyatta turned more fully to face Genji and Genji knew he was being studied; he did his best to project an aura of outward calm and innocence. He knew he failed when Zenyatta said, voice thick with amusement and suspicion, “Indeed I can.”

“Right, so, you could say something to him – or Jesse.”

“I suspect you are asking me this because you fear your brother's wrath, but what makes you think I do not?” asked Zenyatta, now definitely amused.

“No, okay, but listen, I've been thinking about it! We could make it seem like an accident. Wait until he says something in Japanese, some schmoopy, mushy thing about McCree's, I don't know, eyes, or ass, or something, and you could just respond in English, in a way that McCree would _have_ to realize what Hanzo's been going on about!”

“Would it not seem rather... uncouth, to do such a thing? I cannot see how this would ease your brother's displeasure any more than should I simply go up to McCree and inform him of what your brother's been saying.”

“Yeah, but you're an omnic! If you pretend not to understand some little romantic human faux pas...”

Zenyatta shook his head, as if to ask what he was to do with such a student. Genji scrambled to recover.

“Believe me, Master, of all people I definitely know that omnics are wholly capable of being in romantic relationship, and that you would never truly make such a mistake, but Hanzo doesn't know you well yet! He has little to do with omnics, and would have no reason to doubt. It would be the perfect excuse!”

Zenyatta raised himself from where he was sitting and walked over to take a seat next to Genji on the bed. “Be at peace, my student. We must allow them both to understand their own minds, lest our interference only hurt such a young, flourishing bud.”

“My brother is no flourishing bud and he's definitely not young,” Genji grumbled. “He's thirty-eight! He should be old enough not to go around pulling on McCree's pigtails!”

Zenyatta patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“You have come to know your own mind incredibly well; it is a skill to be proud of and a gift to cherish. Now you must allow the same patience to others, in the hopes they reach the same sort of inner peace.”

Genji groaned and flopped backwards next to Zenyatta. “You are correct, of course, Master. I don't like it, but you are correct.”

“Your trust in me is, as always, deeply treasured. ...It would be a lie though, for me not to admit I do enjoy this to some extent. No–” he added, holding up a hand to stave back the outrage projected by Genji whipping his head around to look at Zenyatta, “–not your discomfort, but rather the fact that you and your brother are in such a place that you can act in a manner like this around one another. Unless I have mistaken it, you two are quite frustrated with each other, and yet not angry. It is... very familial, given the nature of your past relationship.”

Which... well, was true. The path to rebuilding his and Hanzo's relationship was a long and arduous one but one that Genji was determined to walk now that the shadow of the Shimada clan was lifted from both their shoulders. It was true though, it had been a long time since Genji had thought as much on his childhood as he had lately without pain, and perhaps an even longer time since he felt so much like a younger brother.

“Still, if Hanzo wanted to get his head out of his ass any time soon, I would not object,” Genji grumbled, making Zenyatta laugh next to him.

-

That time would come perhaps sooner than Genji would have expected, and in the worse possible way.

-

 


	4. Chapter 4

As far as missions went, this one had started out mundane. With Overwatch, they were launched to every corner of the world, to face every sort of foe, and one was always forced to predict the most unpredictable. The fact that Overwatch was more clandestine now than ever didn't stop that, and though their current battles tended to be smaller in scale all that did was make it all the more complicated – foes lurked in the shadows, working mechanisms that they still hadn't wholly identified. When Genji had first joined Overwatch back in its heyday, the mission was clear, battles were bold, and goals well defined even if the politics might have been murky. Omnics, stop them. Bad guys trying to blast holes in world order, stop them. At the time, more importantly for him at least: Shimada-gumi, stop them. Now though there were agendas wrapped up in agendas that were hidden from their sights, some sort of underlying darkness that was threatening to boil over, and a tension that was growing to the breaking point; to go on a mission now one first had to figure out what the mission _was_ and prepare for the unimaginable to join the fray from the shadows at any minute. Regardless of all that though this mission should have been clear cut.

They were working off information that Ana had brought them, data drawn from Talon, sinister in its ambiguity and desperately in need of following up. This was a raid that had been carefully planned for weeks in advance, and at this point Winston had succeeded in pinpointing an outlying Talon base, one that was inconsequential enough not to be as heavily guarded while still likely having the information they were seeking. Guard rotations had been studied to split second accuracy, door codes and security information had been slowly but surely pilfered, spied out with the use of carefully placed recon droids, smuggled from inattentive agents, and data-mined by the ever diligent Athena, and after another solid two weeks of assigning duties, reviewing maps, and preparing to the point where McCree groaned loudly every time a meeting was called over the PA system they were finally ready to strike.

“I'm just sayin',” McCree was saying, not for the first time, to Tracer who sat next to him in the drop ship, “we went on way riskier missions in Blackwatch and even Reyes never made us sit around with our thumbs up our asses that long.”

“I think most of us are keen to avoid Blackwatch's fate though,” Genji pointed out.

“ _I've never heard of your previous time with this organization,_ ” Genji heard Hanzo muse to himself as he triple-checked the tension in his bow.

Genji tried to keep his master's words in mind, to find his soul like a calm lake and let the winds of his brother's foolishness blow off it with nary a ripple... but surely, _surely_ , even if he had accepted that subterfuge was not the means to conclude this drama that didn't mean some... _brotherly advice_ would go amiss?

“Ask him then,” said Genji. He prided himself in the fact that it came out less testy that it may have.

“Pardon?” said McCree.

Hanzo just whipped his head at Genji and _glared_.

“ _Mind your own business, little brother,_ ” he snapped, carefully keeping to Japanese.

 _Keep the soul like a still lake._ Well, Hanzo may as well have tossed a boulder in, because Genji was feeling fed up. It was a marvel, really – Genji could endure every uncomfortable look Hanzo shot his new body, could understand and embrace his moods and anger and guilt and concerns because they were a happy burden, one that at least meant his brother was trying. But for some reason this made him feel like he was fourteen again and wanted nothing more than to knock Hanzo's head into the training mats in the dojo.

“Or you'll do _what_?” Genji demanded, still speaking firmly in English. The rest of the crew in the drop ship was watching, some looking intrigued, most uncomfortable. “Believe me, brother, if there is one thing I have learnt at this point it is that you seem to be all talk.”

With a growl Hanzo lurched up out of his seat to a chorus of shocked cries when people realized that things were potentially taking a dangerous turn. Before Genji could say anything further though or Hanzo could take a step closer, the drop ship banked sharply and Hanzo was sent stumbling ungainly across the floor.

“Whoa there,” said McCree cheerfully, catching Hanzo's arm, the only thing that kept Genji's brother from falling flat out across the floor as the ship began its descent towards the drop point. “We'll have plenty to shoot at in a few minutes, no point getting snippy at each other.”

Genji watched in silent fascination – or, perhaps, horror – as Hanzo studiously did not look at McCree. He also, however, did not pull his arm free, as he might have if it had been Genji, or literally anyone else, catching him. Could Hanzo's pride even take a hit like this? Genji would have expected anyone else to try it, and thereby drawing attention to Hanzo's own stumbling no matter how miniute, to have lost the offending hand by this point. Instead Genji was able to see the skin along Hanzo's high cheeks and ears darken.

“You planning on sitting back down, or were you maybe hoping to try for a circus' balancing act?” McCree asked after the time Hanzo spent frozen lengthened. “Or were you hoping to hop onto my lap for the rest of the trip?” he added with a wink.

Genji swallowed compulsive to keep from laughing as Hanzo cursed in Japanese and snatched his arm away from McCree, seating himself heavily in the open spot next to McCree as Winston's voice called from the cockpit, telling them they'd be landing and ready for a final pre-op review in just a moment. Then, just as the city skyline was coming into view, all the lights on the ship went out, leaving them a single black dot against a black sky as they slipped down unnoticed. It was their luck that Talon was also keen to avoid the busy heart of the city; this base was set up in a heavily walled lot towards the edge of town in the industrial district where, this late in the evening, there would be little activity. Winston was able to smoothly glide them into a large, empty track of land that was once used by the railway – the old railway, before the growth of the hypertrain – but now stood empty except for graffitied fences and old, overgrown track.

As soon as they were safely landed and the engine had hummed to a stop Hanzo unfasten himself from his seat and moved swiftly away, apparently wanting no more close encounters with McCree – not that he needed to have worried, since as soon as the ship had gently bumped against the ground McCree had also unbuckled and bounded off towards the table in the corner to claim a good seat.

“Okay,” Winston said once they were gathered. “We're only a couple blocks away from the infiltration point – do you all remember your entry points?”

“Yeah, I'd say we've beaten that particular horse to death,” McCree drawled. Angela kicked him under the table.

“Um, right,” said Winston, adjusting his glasses as he lost his thread. Tracer patted his hand sympathetically until he gathered himself once more. “Right. So the base should be relatively quiet about now – we haven't heard of this base having any trouble, so if we're lucky it's going to mean bored night guards. They may be Talon agents but they're also human beings, and a few months of uninterupted night shifts means they're going to be going in today expecting the same old, and if we're lucky that means sloppy mistakes. Still, we can't rely on that. Remember the schedules; _follow_ them. The night guards, whatever else they might be, at least seem good at sticking to their rounds. Tracer, Genji? You'll be sticking to the perimeter. That's where the guard barracks are stationed, away from the main building, and it's where most of the guards will be, watching the walls. Stay low and fast and _do not be seen._ You're there for surveillance and advance warning. If something goes wrong inside, you two will be there to cramp any backup that might try to get through and to cause a commotion.”

“We're the mosquitoes,” Genji confirmed. “Fast, annoying, and hard to hit. Confuse and annoy them.”

“Always prepared to be a nuisance,” Tracer agreed with a wink. This was as they'd been planning and they'd been going over the perimeter layout with each other for over a week – they knew every nook and cranny there was to know.

Winston grinned at her before continuing, “That should keep their ranks divided, but hopefully it won't come to that. Angela will be staked out not far from the point. She'll be there to mobilize in case of emergency but make sure you all remember exactly how to get back to her – unless it's life threatening be prepared to fall back to her; I'd prefer to keep Mercy out of a firefight. Meanwhile I'll be staying in here with Athena. We'll keep the comm lines open, provide technical support, and handle the actual acquisition of the data once we're hooked in.”

“Ready when you are, Winston,” Athena's mellow voice chimed in.

“That leaves you two,” Winston concluded. He passed a delicate USB card to McCree who pocketed it with a flourish. “That has a one-way connection back here our mobile set up. Get that plugged into the mainframe, and Athena and I will take care of the rest. We're hoping Athena will be able to shut down any protection software before it causes a problem, but if it sets off alarms be prepared – this card needs to stay attached and active until we give the signal if we're going to get what we're after. McCree, you're running point – you know what to do.”

“Yup, kick open the front doors, swan on in to the heart of the beast, and nick what we're after.” At Winston's frown McCree waved a hand at him. “Alright, alright, I do know what we're doing. Back entrance during one oh-ten guard rotation, slip into the west side entrance with the door code on this puppy–” He held up a different device tucked into a pouch, one that had been programmed with the stolen information to get them through security. “–avoid detection and get you hooked up.”

Winston nodded. “Hanzo, you'll stick with him but stay to the upper catwalks as much as possible. This was an old factory and much of it is open, with the main floor and one or even two layers of balcony and catwalks above. You can act as look out and suppression fire as necessary.”

“It is understood,” said Hanzo.

“Alright then,” said Winston. “Stagger your approach and... well, Overwatch: move out.”

-

“You there?” came McCree's voice through the comm lines.

“Affirmative,” said Hanzo, glancing over the edge of the walkway that followed along a twisting corridor below. This corridor was one that saw little use – narrow and meandering, it was a service corridor at best – and in one dark corner, beneath an emergency light that was long dead, Hanzo could just make out McCree.

He and Hanzo had made quick work of slipping between Talon's defenses and had rendezvoused at their first check point without a problem. Hanzo was only peripherally aware of what exactly McCree's route had entailed since they'd split off after entering the initial perimeter, but it was almost disappointing how easy it was to get past the guards. A few years back if this had been a Shimada controlled warehouse, Hanzo would have rained hell down on the guard staff. The stolen security codes made short work of door locks and alarm systems, and in a well practiced motion Hanzo had clambered up the warehouse's outer wall, one that was tucked away from the outside lights and shadowed by moonlight, and had pried open the window. The first floor had been heavily protected, but apparently no one expected their foe to scale an almost perfectly smooth wall and break into a hidden, narrow window a floor above because it had no additional security beyond what would be expected for a warehouse. Once in, he found himself on a set of walkways that crisscrossed above corridors and larger, open rooms that would have once held stock but were now converted to suit Talon's needs, whatever they may be. Along the walkways he darted, effortlessly slipping into the shadows, down side passages, even flipping beneath the grating of the walkways themselves when security patrols wandered past, all perfectly on time with what they'd been expecting. In no time, it was just a matter of settling in and waiting for McCree to appear at the checkpoint.

“You got a good view?” McCree asked.

“I can see you fine, as well as most of the hall coming up. I'm as blind around corners as you, but I'll try to give you advance warning should anyone unexpected show up,” replied Hanzo as he eased his bow off his back and cast a hand over his quiver, fingers doublechecking by touch the stock he already knew was in there.

“Yeah yeah, that too, but do you have a good _view_?”

Confused, Hanzo looked back down towards McCree. Who was flexing up at roughly where Hanzo was crouching. When Hanzo huffed, McCree twirled and stuck out a hip, a low laugh rippling through Hanzo's comm.

“ _I'd give it a nine,_ ” said Hanzo dryly. He could lose a mark for the sheer lack of professionalism.

“Ha! That was a compliment right?” When Hanzo didn't immediately answer, McCree added, “Right?”

“I was telling you to focus on the task at hand, McCree,” Hanzo said. “If you get shot because you were preening at your reflection I'm not carrying you back to Dr Ziegler.”

“Rude,” McCree murmured back.

“Luv, maybe turn the comm off before sweet talking; you both remember that the rest of us _can_ hear you right now, right?” Tracer asked, and Hanzo felt his face heat up.

“What, you want a look too?” asked McCree and it was hard to tell in the darkness but Hanzo could have sworn McCree had honest-to-god winked in the darkness.

“Move,” he hissed down at McCree, trying to remind himself that there was a time and a place to indulge in flirting with Jesse McCree. The fact that the time was _never_ was a minor detail, because _here_ certainly was not the place.

With a dismissive wave, McCree finally started to make his way down the twisting halls and Hanzo, relieved to once again be distracted by work, started on after him.

Things went well. To the more cynical members of Overwatch this may have been considered ominous in and of itself but really this is what should be expected with the amount of planning and prep that had gone into this op – every eventually was prepared for. The only potentially hairy part of the whole venture was if the alarms were to be tripped during the data upload, but even that was carefully strategized and Hanzo had complete faith that their well-trained if unconventional team was more than up to the task of dispatching a handful of underlings. After McCree's initial antics he sobered and Hanzo was able to see a peek of the agent he may have been during his previous time in Overwatch, when he had apparently been a part of the black ops team. The two of them moved like a well-oiled machine, keeping a careful eye on the time and corresponding guard schedule, and with Hanzo's sonic arrow they were never taken by surprise. A few guards were neatly dispatched with a well placed, stunning flashbang or silent arrow, but nothing suggested there was any alert raised about their presence. Not until Hanzo briefly lost McCree from his sight.

This had been expected. There was a brief warren of narrow halls that were boxed in and didn't have any catwalk or high beams following them. Rather than dropping down to follow McCree and losing his vantage point, it had been decided that McCree would make his way through the halls himself to the destination – a three-story room that had probably once held huge stacks of crates before sorting and shipping but was now a fortified room in the heart of the base filled with computer terminals and external data storage units. Hanzo would take a more roundabout route that would lead him into the room shortly after, where he'd then be able to perch and protect McCree's back while he hooked up Winston's chip, in case it should set off an alarm and they get more agents converging on them than Tracer and Genji could handle. By the time Hanzo entered the room though, creeping silently along the grated catwalks, it was not a computer that McCree stood before.

Hanzo could just make out of the glint of steel in the dim light let off by the monitors; McCree stood with his back against an island of computers, guns out and pointed at a figure that loomed before him. In the dark it was a barely visible shadow of black on black, notably only in the sinister, bone-white mask visible beneath its hood. Roughly McCree's height and looking not at all surprised by the intruders, the figure was definitely not something that anyone had planned for, nor were the two, enormous shotguns that the man fisted in what looked like claw-tipped, metal gauntlets.

“I see Overwatch's arrogance hasn't changed,” the figure said in a strangely hollow, grating voice. It felt like nails rubbed up your spine. “Still believe they're gods untouchable in all things.”

“Who d'you–” McCree started, but was not given a chance to finish before the sound of a shotgun blast shattered the dark silence.

At that range it would have taken little skill or aim for a shotgun slug to turn McCree's face into so much meat, a mediocre shot alone would have done it. Hanzo Shimada however was _not_ a mediocre shot and the masked man never got a chance to prove whether or not he was one. An arrow had slammed into the man's raised wrist, just below where the armour on his arm began, with enough force to send him lurching to the side.

McCree didn't waste a second and Hanzo pretended that it was simply the nature of teamwork and strategy that had his focus immediately snapping to McCree as he rolled away behind another desk.

He was okay.

If any of that bullet's spread had caught him at all, it was evidently not enough to slow the gunslinger down. This moment of personal relief came at a steep price though. It was only a second's hesitation between drawing a new arrow and fitting it when the masked man's black empty gaze, already recovering from the shot, found him in the dark shadows. Hanzo watched, almost hypnotized, as the man yanked the arrow from where it jutted out of the meat of his palm and tossed it aside. Surely it must only be distance, or the dimness of the room, but Hanzo swore he saw no blood even though that arrow should have landed dangerously close the veins of his wrist. Rather than immediately going for his guns though the man raised his hand to the side of his face. For a moment Hanzo couldn't understand what the gesture was supposed to convey, couldn't hear anything from so far below now that the voices weren't raised in anger, when realization struck: _a comm_.

“We are compromised–!” Hanzo started, backing up as he let his next arrow fly (scatter shot, to slow the man down, no time to aim, had to get to a secure location) but perhaps the rest of the facility was not as unaware as they'd expected.

After all, this figure in the leering white mask didn't seem surprised.

Regardless, Hanzo had barely taken two steps back when a bone-jarring impact slammed against his side and sent him sprawling forward. The breath exploded from his chest in a burning gasp as he smashed with bruising force against the metal railing of the walkway, only avoiding falling head first over it by letting his bow drop and skitter across the walkway in an attempt to catch himself. The entire left side of his ribs screamed with pain from whatever had hit them. Unbidden, the memory of McCree tossing jibes about his lack of armour and exposed chest echoed in his ringing ears and he immediately resolved that the cowboy would never be permitted to know what had happened here – Hanzo would never hear the end of it.

“Hanzo, luv, what's happening?” came Tracer's voice over the comm but Hanzo didn't have the breath to answer. And the crashing of gunshots – pistol and shotgun – from down below was far more distracting.

Gasping, trying to force air back into his aching chest, Hanzo had no chance to recover before the Talon agents, evidently summoned from their intended patrol routes, converged on him. Even winded as he was the first man Hanzo dispatched easily; Hanzo had been taken by surprise the first time, not this time. Leaning against the rail as he was, it was a simple thing to sweep his legs out and catch the agent off balance. From there Hanzo caught the man's chest with his open palm and, with a heave of muscles, sent the man flying backwards off the walkway with a shriek. The electronic whine and firework sparkle of failing technology behind him was all the indicator Hanzo needed to know that man, evidently falling directly onto a computer terminal, wouldn't be getting up in a hurry. The next man aimed a shot at him, but Hanzo was already rolling to the side to pick his bow back up and, bounding to his feet in a single motion, used his momentum to spin the bow with crushing force against the man's neck. The agent went down bonelessly. Now Hanzo had just enough time as the remaining agents composed themselves to glance down to the warehouse room below. Just a glance. To take stock of the situation, he told himself, it was never wise to be taken by surprise. And to ensure the cowboy was still alive. Because obviously his strategy would change if the man in black was no longer distracted and McCree was d– If he was–

But of course, he wasn't. The cowboy was much to stubborn for that.

A bullet overshot Hanzo's head by inches. Attention no longer divided, Hanzo smoothly snagged three new arrows out of his quiver, held delicately between his fingers, and he let them fly into the waiting bodies of the agents moving towards him in quick succession. How nice of them to line themselves up nice and neatly along the catwalk for him – it be hard for them to shoot around their allies and made them little better than fish in a barrow. Especially for Hanzo Shimada.

-

Even with his skills this fight was too fast, too dirty, to try to take a proper headshot, but at the rate they were going McCree wasn't sure much else was going to kill whatever this... _this_ was. Either this guy had some damn good armour under that cloak or there was some insane bio-tech at work here, and as it was going McCree didn't want to give this man a single opening. Normally McCree _wouldn't_ consider the seconds it would take to line up that sort of shot an opening – he was too good, too fast – but the way this man, this _creature,_ handled his guns... No, McCree would be more prickled than a cactus if he wasn't careful. But letting the fight drag on wasn't helping either. Even with evidently heavy amour, the man in black didn't seem to be tiring and from the clattering and shrieking (from Talon agents), and Japanese cursing (from his very own bow-wielding ninja) he could hear far above, McCree wasn't going to count on help from Hanzo this second either. No, McCree needed the man to go down and needed him to go down now. So if a headshot was out of the question, then there was one good option left in his arsenal.

A shot from the man's oversized rifles rang over McCree's head, his last before reloading, if McCree was counting right (and if there were two things McCree could count well it was cards and gunshots), just as McCree feigned to the left and slid sharply to the right, darting until he could see his opponent's back while the man fumbled a crucial second with discarding his guns. His own gun back, barrel filled, cocked – it was time to fan the hammer and introduce an entire damn clip into this man's back before he realized what McCree was doing.

Six shots rang out.

Six shots went wide. What happened in between was the sort of thing that existed only in memory because it went too fast to actually experience in the moment.

As if knowing exactly what was about to happen, without even bothering to replace the guns he'd dropped, the figure had swept around more like a cyclone than a man, and jammed his hand up at the underside of McCree's wrist. Normally he would have been able to hold himself steady, but not while fanning the hammer – the kickback was just strong enough that it was already of challenge to hold the gun steady for six clean shots to enter a single target. The force behind the man's hit was plenty hard enough to knock his hand aside just as the gun snapped back against his wrist and the shots disappeared in the dark. But the man wasn't done. In a single, fluid motion that took advantage of McCree's shock, his arm twisting around McCree's until the man had his gun arm captured in a fist. Metal claws dug into his arm, trying to get McCree to drop his gun but he held on resiliently, teeth grit as he stared into the black gaps in the mask where eyes presumably lay hidden.

“You never were able to handle the kickback properly,” the man growled.

And, for a minute, McCree simply forgot how to breathe. Because like a gunshot realization struck and suddenly he understood why he knew that voice even though it now sounded like it was being spoken from the end of a long, dark tunnel.

“Reyes?”

-

What was he _doing_?

Hanzo did _not_ have time to focus on McCree. He shouldn't _have_ to. McCree should be capable of handling himself against one man, even a clearly military-trained man, but rather than kicking himself free of the man's hold and filling the cloaked man with lead McCree continued to stand their with his wrist captured while he _gaped_. He could just barely hear what McCree was saying from down on the warehouse floor.

“Reyes?”

The name was familiar, but Hanzo couldn't say why. Surely he knew no one with that name.

“ _Gabe?_ ” McCree repeated, his voice breaking. “You're _alive_?”

And suddenly he recalled where he'd heard the name from. McCree had mentioned it before, had mentioned it, in fact, on the ride over here – Gabriel Reyes had been another Overwatch agent, McCree's commander at one point, he believed. He didn't know much about it because... well, because rather than _ask_ McCree about his past he'd just tried to satisfy his fascination with McCree by mumbling about it to himself in Japanese. But he did know that this Reyes was supposed to be dead.

Unlike Hanzo though, when faced with a ghost from his past, McCree... McCree was hesitating.

And unlike Hanzo's ghost, McCree's did not appear to be willing to seek reconciliation.

“You're gonna have to ask the doc about that one,” the shadow – Reyes – growled. “But _you_?”

Hanzo watched, as if in slow motion, as Reyes' free hand shot into his cloak and pulled out another gun. Holding McCree's wrist as he was, it was a single movement that brought the oversized shotgun to the cowboy's chest. He could see the split second realization in McCree's eyes, the moment where he tried to jerk back.

“ _You_ won't be for much longer.”

Like ice thawing, the world sped up, and soon things were happening almost too quick to follow. McCree's foot had kicked up and slammed against Reyes' trapping hand – it let go, and McCree was falling back just as the gun rang out. A scream broke from Hanzo's throat but he couldn't pause, couldn't think, couldn't wonder how much of that massive shot hit McCree's chest and how much flew wide. Before the shot had even finished ringing out, before the man could raise his second gun, before he could consider finishing the job, Hanzo had his bow in front of him and an arrow in its notch; he didn't know how he found the air to do so after the scream, but find it he did and with a bellow twin dragons were sent roaring down on the cloaked man.

“Hanzo,” crackled the comm, “agents started popping out of the ground like bunnies, but we're doing the best we can and we're en route. What's your situation?”

Those twin dragons – there was no way to dodge that. None. And the man knew it. He had to. Yet he spun towards Hanzo as the dragons leaped from his arrow, lighting the room up like a lightning strike, but there was no fear in his black gaze. Instead he _laughed_ , a deep, rumbling sound that set Hanzo's teeth on edge. Still, it wouldn't matter, it wouldn't matter once his dragons' vengeful jaws had shredded through him and showed what happened when you dared touch something important to Hanzo Shimada.

And then the second he should have been consumed by the light and fire and grasping claws of the dragons he was... gone.

No, not gone. The laughter continued, like a plague left to linger in the air, and it was only by the fading light of the dragons that Hanzo could see a sickly, black mist disappearing from where the man had been.

What _was_ this man?

“ _Hanzo,_ ” came Genji's voice, sharp and jarring over the comm as silence and darkness returned to the room, “answer me. Jesse's gone silent. Do you read me?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so my last exam is on the 8th so probably don't expect another update until a little after that. Realistically I probably should have spent this evening working on a term paper or my thesis project or something rather than editing this but fuck it I guess  
> (also sorry for how long it takes me to reply to comments sometimes, I find it helps my anxiety not to hang around my inbox until I'm ready to post new chapters. But I love each and every one!!! so much!!! all of you reading this and dropping kudoes or comments or even if you just smiled while reading this I'd give you all internet hugs if I could, you make me so happy!!!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops I know this was supposed to be more of a romcom but have some more angst
> 
> cw: semi-graphic description of an injury? idk, fanfiction has ruined me tbh I can't tell what's non-descriptive and what's too descriptive anymore. I don't think it's bad but it's there so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ beware blood I guess

“ _Jesse's gone silent. Do you read me?_ ”

Hanzo could barely register Genji's voice over the comm as he moved with a fury that left him feeling simultaneously a hot, blinding rage that filled his heart while a icy numbness spread through the rest of him. Hanzo hadn't noticed his nerves, high-strung and shuddering in his body, until that moment where they seemed to snap. The arrow he'd drawn immediately after his last was steady in his bow but it was only a lifetime of stringent training that kept it as such. As soon as he was certain that that... mist – that monster _,_ that _oni –_ wasn't coming back, Hanzo returned the arrow and, with no hesitation, flung himself over the rail. Even with the enhanced support of his boots, the impact of dropping from such a height nearly made his knees buckle, and it was with a graceless hop that he caught himself and was able to continue towards McCree.

Despite the darkness, with the light of the sparking, ruined computers, Hanzo could see the grim reflection of blood spreading across the floor. Without a thought for it, Hanzo dropped to his knees besides McCree, shouting his name as he pushed back that wretched serape. The armour beneath it was a twisted mess. The strength of those massive guns, the proximity between them when they'd been fired – at that point, McCree may very well have been better off without it at all, as there was now jagged, ruined metal digging into his flesh.

Pressing his fingers to McCree's neck, he was relieved to feel the fluttering of a pulse, but it was offset by the pure, raw terror of seeing his face slack, the skin pale as ditch water, contrasting vividly with the red smeared around his lips.

“McCree! McCree, say something,” Hanzo called, as he fumbled awkwardly. He pulled the serape from McCree's neck, with the half-formed intention of pressing it to the wound but – how? How to do it without worsening the injury, without pressing some shard of metal into something delicate and vital?

“Hanzo?” There was the sound of wild gunfire from the other side of the comm link and for a moment it cut out and Hanzo could just make out the shriek of metal on metal – Genji and his sword tricks. “Hanzo, we're moving towards your location but whatever you two did you've managed to kick the hornets' nest – every thug in the place is on us. Are you secure?”

As if waking up, Hanzo suddenly remembered that he was no longer a mercenary wandering alone.

“Mercy,” he bit out, clinging to the serape uselessly. “McCree is in critical condition, we need Mercy here _now_.”

“What? What's happened? Is McCree okay? Are _you_ okay?”

Over top of Genji's voice though came Dr Ziegler's, cool and collected: “Understood. Moving out.”

And then there was nothing to do. Vaguely Hanzo stood up, drawing his bow and a sonic arrow – if there was fighting in the rest of the rest of the base, it was reasonable to assume it may return here and obviously McCree was in no position to defend himself. He'd only taken a couple steps though when his foot connected with the Peacekeeper in the dark, the sound of metal on metal unsettling in the now empty room. It should be in McCree's hand, not abandoned on the floor like trash. It's gleaming surface was crudely scratched from the fight and it was with numb fingers that Hanzo picked it up and slid it into his sash; McCree would need it later, he told himself.

“ _You will wake up_ ,” Hanzo said. His voice was steady, unshaken. He had once been heir to a criminal empire, he had been trained to be a weapon since childhood, he had murdered his own brother – and now he faced the echos of that legacy every day of his life. He could be steady, even in the face of this. Especially in the face of this. What was death to a man like him? And yet still, he spoke this pointless little thing in Japanese – McCree wouldn't even be able to hear him, not in this state, it was an empty promise to no one, yet somehow the sheer pointlessness of it made it something fragile and important, like every other self-indulgent thing he had mumbled, something that couldn't be held in but which was too frail to be allowed out. Perhaps more so. This, here, now, was not a game.

-

Genji sprinted down the halls alone, doing his best to recall the maze-like layout in his head as he dropped from walkways and scrambled up crates to find the shortest route to the base's inner sanctum where McCree and his brother should be. At least the halls were nearly empty now. Whatever security staff was once here had largely been dispatched by himself and Tracer by now. Currently he was alone, Tracer having darted down a side hall to deal with another pocket of mercenaries while telling him to keep going with a meaningful look. He shouldn't have accepted, McCree was as much her friends as his, but she must have been able to see the fear he felt for his brother. Hanzo, as much as the man may loathe to admit it, cared strongly about so much, until he let it nearly tear himself apart. His love for their father had lead him down the path of devoted heir, until he'd pushed his body to its limits, and his love for their family had twisted him up inside until he could do nothing but shoulder the weight of its legacy in his desperate need to assume all responsibility and help it flourish. It was that love that had led him to delivering Genji what should have been a killing blow. His love for Genji, resurfacing too late, had nearly ruined him completely. Genji did not want to know what Hanzo's reluctant, repressed love for Jesse McCree was doing to him now.

As it was, Genji nearly ran head-on into Angela as she swept down the halls. In her Valkyrie suit, she moved swiftly and silently and there was no stopping her when she was en route to a patient.

“Have you heard–?” Genji started, falling in stride beside her, but Angela shook her head. She knew no more than him. So it was with trepidation that he entered the room a step behind her.

The room was a gruesome sight. Genji had expected that much, the bits and pieces they'd heard down the comm line had been filled with the chaotic melody of close combat. The room was massive, with the ground floor crammed full of twisting computer set-ups and filing cabinets and data cores, with a spiderweb of catwalks intertwining in the empty space overhead. It showed signs of the fight though. Office chairs were overturned and more than one computer had obviously gotten in the way and were now flickering weakly or spitting sparks. Bodies of Talon agents were slumped here too, many bristling with arrows. And then there was McCree.

Towards the centre of the room in a puddle of blood lay Jesse McCree, and just over him, still and silent like some sort of looming, protective gargoyle, stood Hanzo with his bow drawn. For a split second, Genji found himself once again staring down the shaft of one of his brother's arrows, but as soon as Hanzo realized who had entered it was lowered. Angela hadn't even paused long enough to give the weapon any consideration; with a final sweep of her Valkyrie wings she was settling at McCree's side, her Caduceus staff glowing as it thrummed to life.

Genji would have liked to have immediately gone to his friend's side, to ensure that McCree would in fact be okay – as if his presence could help in some way that Angela's couldn't – but instead he found himself rooted. Now that the imminent threat was gone, the bow hung loosely in Hanzo's fingers, like it was only an afterthought, the imprint of a lifetime of being taught that to lose a weapon was to court death. That was the only part of Hanzo that was loose though, the only part that allowed for a moment of relieved tension. His mouth was clenched in a hard line, and his entire body vibrated with the tension of a bowstring as they watched Angela work. As he watched McCree.

“We need to get him out of here and into a proper medical facility as soon as possible,” said Angela sharply. “I need to shift as much of the armour as possible so I can get him stabilized. Hanzo, come here, I need your hands.”

Genji couldn't help but wonder if it was purely a utilitarian need for help that motivated Angela, or if she too realized that a Hanzo kept busy was better than a Hanzo left to stew on perceived guilt.

“I– I hate to interrupt,” came Winston's voice over the comm link. “I know things are tense down there but, uh... I do still need to get plugged in if Athena and I are going to be able to get what we came for.” He truly did sound apologetic about needing to bring it up but Genji understood – they had all known the risks when they'd answered the Recall, and right now there was still a mission to be finished. Hanzo, kneeling next to McCree now following Angela's steady instructions, tensed further though. Genji didn't comment though, simply swept over to them and dug into McCree's pockets for Winston's card.

“ _Gghn._ That's a li'l forward, wouldn't ya say?” McCree grunted, voice thready with pain, making both brothers start.

“Can you describe the pain your feeling right now,” asked Angela quickly, not one to waste time in a situation like this.

“Yes, well, definitely got some of that,” said McCree tightly.

Genji gave McCree's leg the most reassuring pat he could manage. “Listen to the good doctor, Jesse, while I finish your job for you,” he said, making McCree give what might have been a laugh or possibly just a heavy exhale.

“Thanks, darlin'.”

Genji, trying to push his apprehension out of his mind, stood and went to the computer terminal that Winston had indicated during the debriefings, mercifully unharmed by the firefight. Though he didn't dare voice the thought allowed, not with Hanzo there, he reminded himself that if Mercy had been able to keep _him_ stable and breathing until he'd been transported to an Overwatch medical facility, then McCree would be fine, no matter how dark and wet his chest had looked under the warped armour.

Still, it was hard not to focus on McCree's wet, gasping breaths as the silent stretched on.

It was, of course, McCree who inevitably broke the silence, though Genji couldn't fathom how he managed. “You keep turning those pretty brown eyes on me like that, I might start thinkin' something's wrong,” McCree croaked.

“Do not speak,” Hanzo grit out from behind clenched teeth. A glance back told Genji that Hanzo's hands were currently slick and red with McCree's blood as he guided them to where Mercy commanded.

“Still can't get enough of my voice, can you?” said McCree, notes of amusement and self-deprecation half buried beneath the tight-throated pain.

Hanzo did not answer immediately, just as his hands did not shake and his eyes did not moisten. He was steady, composed, a Shimada through and through. At one point perhaps it might have even sent unsettled shivers through Genji as he remembered the flat, stony face he'd seen just before Hanzo had struck him with what should have been the final, fatal blow; this time, in this place, it did not. It could not. How could it, when ever line of Hanzo's arched back screamed barely maintained control, the set of his jaw was every word he believed he could not say.

His brother was not an open book, likely not even to Hanzo himself; he was foreign language one could study for years without mastering, full of fallacies and faults and secrets, but for one who had taken the time to learn it Hanzo's words could be almost deafening and Genji heard every desperate, silent syllable now. Even before he bent his head low next to McCree's and spoke aloud.

“ _I cannot get enough of your voice. I will never have enough of it,_ ” he whispered in feverish Japanese. “ _You're stupid quips and jokes, your awful accent and stupid laugh – if you should ever deprive me of it I don't... No. So be silent now, because if this were the last time I heard it I could not stand it._ ”

So, thought Genji, that's how it was.

“Don't have a damn clue what you said but's real damn pretty,” slurred McCree, though it was followed by a sharp, pained gasp as Mercy removed a large chunk of metal that was then sent clattering away across the floor. “I mean – your words. They're damn pretty. All... flowy and nice, s'a good language. You ain't half a looker either, mind.”

Hanzo closed his eyes, slow and pained. “I do not want to hear it, McCree.”

“You'd think you wouldn't know a compliment if it bit you on the nose,” huffed McCree.

“Whatever you believe is coming out of your mouth right now, it is not half as refined as you seem to think it is,” said Hanzo.

“Okay, that's the best patch job I can do right now, but it should keep McCree's lungs from completely collapsing before I get my hands on proper medical supplies,” said Angela sharply, standing up quickly. “Genji, are you done there?”

“I need more time yet, there's a lot parse through,” came Winston's voice, again still more apologetically. Even with the little device linking Athena to the Talon database working away there was only so much information that could be analyzed, sorted, and stored at a given time – especially information as well encrypted as this.

“I can stay here and guard it while you get McCree out of here,” said Genji.

Angela nodded absently, bloody hand still tight on the staff. “Then Hanzo you're going to need to carry McCree for me back to the dropship. Lena, darling, are you still out there?”

“I am!” called Lena over the comms. “Keeping an eye out, making sure no one's heading your way. How's our favourite cowboy doing?”

“As well as can be expected,” said Angela, a touch of exhaustion in her voice. “If you could join us – mine and Hanzo's hands will be full, so–”

“So I play bodyguard. Gotcha, won't be a minute.”

And then there they went, with McCree's bloody, gasping body in Hanzo's arm and Angela with her staff hurrying along beside them, leaving Genji alone to babysit a computer drive. At least his body glowed, or it might have felt eerie in the sudden darkness and silence after the comforting light of the Valkyrie suit and the chaotic bustle that always came around Mercy when she worked – or around McCree, at any point.

“Don't worry, luv,” came Lena's voice over the comms, as if reading his mind from afar. “I'll make sure they're both okay.”

He was unspeakably grateful that she understood that McCree wasn't the only one Genji was currently worried about.

-

When Genji arrived in the infirmary, it was dim and empty. Everyone else had had the sense to go back to their beds – or perhaps find a shower and meal – and trust the competent medical staff of Overwatch, even if that now meant a grand total of one person. (Though Dr Angela Ziegler had competence enough to stand in for a fully stocked hospital and then some, as far as Genji and his non-biased opinion were concerned.) Genji was not one of these people however.

Having stayed until the very bitter end when Talon reinforcements had finally appeared to investigate the break-in, Genji had then unplugged Winston's chip, destroyed the computer just for the fun of it, and had made a mad dash to get away from the Talon agents. He'd then been forced to hide in the slow rain that had been increasing in strength throughout the mission, only to be picked up an hour later by a smaller plane piloted by Lena herself after the dropship had made it back to Gibraltar. It was a relief to hear from Lena that right up until a stretcher had been brought out for McCree and he'd been wheeled back into the base he'd been alive and breathing. (Genji noticed that she didn't say “well”. Nor did she mention whether or not he was still awake and talking, or how his odds were, or how close they'd come to losing him on the flight back. She was tired enough though after running a full mission along side them and then needing to play designated driver for Genji, so he didn't push her and joined in with her mindless chatter from the copilot's seat – helping her stay awake at the wheel was the least he could do.) Once they landed, Lena had wished him a good night, kissed his metal cheek, and walked away – and the fact that she did that rather than just blink off to her bed was proof of exactly how tired the woman was. Genji, rather than following her example, forced his weary, aching body off towards the infirmary.

Hanzo was one of the few who remained.

He sat outside the door to the infirmary, as still as if he, like the base itself, had been carved from the mountain side, staring helpless out at the silent halls and closed infirmary doors. Genji wasn't even sure Hanzo realized he was standing there, his brother was so silent, so consumed.

For a moment Genji considered slipping away into the shadows – in this moment, Hanzo would not want a witness and forcing his company on Hanzo may very well force Hanzo to hide himself away, bury his emotions under still more layers rather than let someone see them laid bare and raw. But that had been the problem from the start, hadn't it? Genji had toed the line, pressed Hanzo but never with any real force, and then this entire mess had been allowed to grow and grow and grow without being addressed until they had all ended up here. (Well, admittedly Hanzo's stupid crush _probably_ didn't have anything to do with McCree getting shot but Genji felt that he should be allowed a little melodrama for the moment.)

So, steeling himself, Genji stepped from the shadowy dimness of the hall straight to where Hanzo was sitting.

“You need to talk to Jesse,” he said without preamble.

Hanzo didn't startle, but Genji did see a muscle jump in his cheek.

“Last I heard from Dr Ziegler he has not yet reawakened,” Hanzo said coolly.

“We both know that is not what I'm talking about, brother.”

“Then say what you must and then leave me,” Hanzo snapped.

“At first I thought this was just some stupid game to you. You know, flirt with the ridiculous American when he can't tell, and possibly get back at your little brother by making him really uncomfortable. But that's not what this is, is it? You _like_ Jesse McCree. Or you could, if you actually, you know, went on a _date_. But you won't! This is going too far, Hanzo, you need to tell McCree how you feel. This isn't fair to anyone.”

Hanzo's face was dark and twisted in annoyance as he stared his brother down, but Genji could see the hairline fissures of exhaustion and fear in it.

“You have said your piece then. It's _none_ of your business, but you said it. Now leave.”

“Hanzo! Look at yourself, look at what this is doing to you! Do you think I want to see my brother like that?”

“ _Then. Look. Away._ ”

“If he had died, Hanzo, if he had died and you hadn't been able to say _anything_ to him–”

“Do you not _see_?” Genji was taken aback by the way Hanzo's voice cracked over that one word. “That is the point. That this much pain could be caused when there is nothing between us...”

“Nothing. Right.”

“What happens once there is?” pressed Hanzo, ignoring Genji. “What happens to him if he... if he comes to care for me? Once he puts his guard down– We have enemies that would exploit such a connection. Who would see a weakness for what it was. They could kill him, simply to hurt me. Or use me to... No. Whatever childish fantasies you are entertaining, brother, they are impossible. And I do not need your advice on the matter, I am handling things myself.”

Genji stared. If he had ever called Hanzo a coward it had always been with a certain humour, with the assumption that he was nervous about rejection or intimacy or, heaven forbid, emotions, but never with any real bite. That, Genji realized, may have been his first mistake. “You're afraid,” he said. It wasn't a question.

“I shouldn't have to explain this, not to you of all people,” said Hanzo, turning away from Genji then. “You should understand feeling so strongly for a person that you do not foresee betrayal. For caring so deeply that you cannot defend yourself when that trust is broken or exploited.”

Genji _stared_ , open mouthed. He didn't know if he was more shocked or furious. “No. No, you do _not_ get to make this about me, Hanzo, you–”

“ _You_ almost died. And that was when our affairs were only wrapped up in family business. What happens now that we are an international threat? You cannot ask me to risk seeing what happened to you happen to McCree. It is not your place to make that choice, brother.

“You cannot tie yourself to what happened, Hanzo! You have already given too many years to your guilt. You must move on!”

“And McCree is meant to help me move on?” asked Hanzo bitterly.

“I think so, yes!”

They stared across at each other, lit only by the hall's low emergency lights and the green glow from Genji himself. Slowly, hesitantly, Genji reached up and released the clasps of his mask, removing it gently and tucking it under his arm. He was so used to it that it was always something of a shock to feel cool, unregulated air against his face, without his heads-up display or the knowledge that he was safely hidden from prying eyes. But if Hanzo was only seeing a cyborg, and embodiment of past mistakes, then Genji wanted to put a stop to it – let him see a brother. It only took a stride to cover the space between them, so that Genji could grab one of Hanzo's hands and give it a squeeze.

“You deserve to be happy, brother. It pains me to see you now, like this, and now that if you had your way you would continue down this path.”

Hanzo couldn't meet his eyes.

“I will... think on what you've said.”

“Thank you.”

And with that, Genji stepped back and walked back along the corridor. There was nothing more that could be said now, and Hanzo did deserve time to reflect, not just on Genji words but on any number of things. On McCree, his own feelings, and their past. Genji himself found that, before retiring to bed, he wouldn't mind seeking out Zenyatta to meditate himself – this discussion had left him with many things to consider as well.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Past Me: it'll be around six chapters  
> Present Me: ha, well _someone_ thought hanzo was a lot more reasonable than he actually is


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!  
> I'd meant to post this yesterday so I could say I posted something for McHanzo week but then two people were sick at work so I got called into an understaffed, seven hour shift on Christmas Eve OTL so now it's my christmas present to all of you

“Hey, cowboy, you managing to stay in one piece?”

McCree paused in his methodical, miserable counting of ceiling tiles in order to shoot up and grin at his visitor, a welcome interruption even if his ribs yowled their complaints at the sharp movement.

“You're a sight for sore eyes,” he told him sincerely as Genji dropped himself into the chair by the bed. “And, well, just about sore everything else, if we're being honest. Doesn't help that it's slower than a Sunday afternoon 'round here and I've only got every little ache for company.”

“Angela did mention something about your boredom” said Genji dryly. “Something about walls and you driving her up them, I believe.”

“ _Me_? Driving _her_? If she'd let me leave–”

“Then I'd be scooping your exsanguinated body up off the floor somewhere once you ruin all the doctor's hard work. I think I'll be satisfied with visiting and listening to you complain, if it's all the same to you. Besides, I seem to recall you were the one calling for patience and calm in the face of injury when it was me in here.”

McCree rolled his eyes and flopped back onto his pillows like a man betrayed. “Sure, sure, but, see, you'd just had a _full body transplant_ and were trying to fight everyone that so much as looked at you. Me, I've had paper cuts that hurt worse'n this.”

Behind his mask, Genji rolled his eyes. A paper cut indeed. First thing Genji had done this morning was hunt down Angela so he could get a full account of McCree's injuries and hear from the woman herself that he'd be okay. By the end, McCree lungs had been taking on blood; it had been dripping from his mouth and nose like something out of a horror movie, and that wasn't counting the shrapnel that had lodged in the rest of him, tearing him to shreds from beneath the skin. It had been a harrowing experience, flying back home from the mission in a dimly cockpit trying to talk about light, meaningless things while trying to ignore the pain and exhaustion and fear with Tracer had been harrowing. Knowing that McCree was still in surgery, that Angela was there too with no signs of stopping, that McCree's heart had already given out once... on its own it had been exhausting. Even after speaking with Angela, it had been a very heavy, dark night to be sitting in bed thinking about what had happened and what had also happened. Especially given that it had only been McCree on his mind at that point. The image of his brother standing in that dark corridor outside the infirmary, with an expression that wouldn't change and a back set rigid and straight and unbending – and who was barely holding it together – had been a trial Genji had not been prepared for. To speak of guilt and forgiveness and loss when it had been about his own near-death was one thing; it was something he'd thought about, meditated on, and prepared for for years. To be standing in an empty hallway wondering if your unflappable older brother would start crying or not – and which would be worse – was another experience all together.

What, Genji wondered, would McCree think if he knew he'd had someone paying hiim a silent vigil last night. This, however, was not a story meant to be shared by him while Hanzo still held his heart so fretfully close to his chest, so he thought on Zenyatta and drew all the compassion he had into his heart and all the patience he'd learned into his soul and kept those thoughts of last night to himself.

“Well, I thought after all the time you spent trying to force me to stay in my hospital bed I could come return the favour, and keep you and your 'paper cut' company.”

McCree's grin was bright and honest beneath the bruising. “Well, I certainly wouldn't say no. You're the first visitor I've had, 'sides for Angela, and _you're_ not armed with needles to poke me up like a cactus.”

“What, no one else has come by?” asked Genji, surprised.

“Well, Jack, but that don't count. He came by to pat my head, give his awkward little 'good work, soldier'–” Genji couldn't help but give a bark of laughter at McCree's imitation – unflattering, but surprisingly accurate from their earlier days in Overwatch. “–and tell me a debriefing would be happening at 1900h. Jesus, at least Reyes could be trusted to smuggle in...”

Genji frowned as McCree trailed off.

“What?”

“I... did Hanzo tell you much about what happened last night?”

“Not really? At least not that I've heard. Everyone was pretty focused on getting you home and finishing up with Winston's data. And Hanzo's been a little... distracted. Why? What happened?”

“Nothin', nothin', forget it. Boy, this is gonna be a fun debrief, let me tell you...”

Genji frowned, mentally backpedaling. He wasn't sure what had McCree suddenly so morose – it couldn't be about Commander Reyes, could it? They spoke about Reyes often enough and while Genji knew the two had been close he had thought the old hurt of his death had largely eased off McCree's soul. Perhaps not though. Or perhaps something about the fight had dredged up old memories – Genji certainly knew all about how the wrong word, smell, thought could reopen an old wound. Or maybe Genji was completely off his mark and McCree was still just troubled about the mission going wrong. He was supposed to be here making McCree feel better though, so it was time to change the subject.

“So, um, for visitors... it's _just_ been Jack and Angela? No one else?”

“Not besides you. You'd think breakfast were more appealing than me, the traitors.”

“Not even my brother?” The question seemed to pop out on its own accord. So he was nosy. And needed to know if his brother had actually thought about anything he'd said.

McCree raised an eyebrow. “Hanzo? Nope, haven't seen hide nor hair of him. I'm not exactly up for a trek to the shooting range though and that's usually your best bet for finding him. But if you see him don't hesitate to tell him I'm pining here all alone,” he added with mock solemnity.

Genji could have screamed over the word _pining_ but he swallowed it. At least the mask meant he didn't have to try to make anything other than a dismayed face.

“I will.” Oh, will he ever. “Anyways, I'm pretty sure I promised to amuse you...”

-

“Peace be upon you, McCree. How are you feeling?”

McCree looked up, mildly surprised but intensely relieved to see a visitor coming through the infirmary door. Not so much surprised to have visitors, since after Genji both Tracer and Hana had been by, though both could only pass through quickly as apparently there were talks happening about the initial surge of data that Winston's recovered the the mission. What was more surprising, was that it was Zenyatta who was coming through the door. Now McCree liked the monk just fine (though he swore he caught half his jokes thirty seconds after the uptake, at which point Genji was already laughing at him) but he didn't tend to see too much of him unless he was with Genji.

Still, he came bearing a large bag balanced on his crossed legs – filled with what McCree could only hope and pray was good, proper food rather than what Angela currently had him choked to the gills on. Or video games, dear god, he'd kill for literally anything to stave off the boredom right now.

“Hey there, Zen. Come to fill me up with robot magic so I can get on my feet faster?”

Zenyatta chuckled. “I would happily leave you with an orb, my friend, except I fear it would do little other than encourage a feeling of tranquility – I doubt there is anything I can do for you that Dr Ziegler has not already.”

“Aw, well, was worth a shot. Anything to get me running outta here sooner.”

“Yes, at the moment I would not advice running anywhere – though I am not a doctor I do not believe punctured lungs take very kindly to such things. Nor, I believe, does Dr Ziegler, and she may well be the more formidable danger of the two. You must treat your body with the kindness you extend to your friends; you deserve to be well again, and a harmony between body and mind will best speed that recovery.”

“Hey now, I'll have you know I take pride in never havin' had a harmonious thought in my life.”

It was decidedly unfair, McCree decided, that a person that didn't even have a moving face should be able radiate emotions in the way that someone like Zenyatta seemed to. In this case it was almost befuddling how a person could so strongly give the impression of _not_ rolling his eyes, especially given that he didn't have eyes that could roll if he wanted them to. Still, it was a very eye-roll worthy sort of remark and McCree knew it, so it was almost unnerving to say it to someone so serenely unruffled by it.

“Be that as it may, I do know how you helped ease the burden on Genji's soul when I was not yet there to help guide his thoughts, so it seems only right that I should offer you what harmony I can while you remain restrained under a doctor's orders. Having heard Genji's own stories of his time stuck in a hospital, I thought I would be best received if I brought something to lift the boredom.”

McCree couldn't help but narrow his eyes. Maybe he was just a bit skeptical after all that time with the gangs – and Blackwatch, thanks Reyes – but he swore that came out just a lick too quick, like Zenyatta was mighty keen on something. And maybe it made him a suspicious bastard for doubting an altruistic monk, but McCree could smell ulterior motives from fifty paces. When Zenyatta's bag was opened and the books were pulled out, McCree just groaned, less surprised than he probably should have been.

“Is there a problem?” asked Zenyatta innocently. “Genji had expressed to me that this was what you did while he had been stuck in hospital, recovering from his surgery.”

“I'm thinking you may have misunderstood something there, friend,” said McCree, turning one of the books over in his hands. “See, what we more did while Genji was stuck in bed was watch trashy anime. Not, uh... this.”

“Oh?” said Zenyatta, orbs looping in an inquisitive circle. “Dear me. Have I misunderstood something? I admit, the finer points of human interactions do sometimes still escape me.”

If McCree wasn't so battered up already, he'd hit himself when he saw Zenyatta's orbs hum in what he could only interpret as a very sad circle. How could fucking metal balls look sad? Search him, but McCree would be darned if they didn't manage it.

“Aw, well,” he said vaguely, flipping one of the books idly in his hand. “Easy enough mistake to make, I suppose. S'just not really the sort of thing I'm much good at, see.”

“Forgive me, this is an embarrassing mistake to have made. Having heard from Genji about the kindness you showed I had thought to extend similar hospitalities, if that was the way humans did things while another was ill but... yes, I see, I have made a mistake in my interpretation. My apologies, since we are able to do simple mechanical repairs omnics do not really have any similar experiences from which I could draw connections.”

Ah, dammit. Now he felt bad. Zenyatta's orb hummed idly around his neck and he seemed... it was hard to tell with a bloke who didn't move his face really. Disappointed? Embarrassed? Darn it, he'd been trying his best and now McCree felt like an ass.

“Aw right, dammit, fine. You're right, I'm bored to tears just lying here,” McCree conceded. “God only knows when they'll let me out again anyways – or, that is, Angela, but they're about one and the same in here. Might as well fill the time with _somethin_ ' other than counting roof tiles. Suppose it can't hurt to brush off the old memory banks.”

“Wonderful,” said Zenyatta, and he sounded like he meant it. “Perhaps next time I will be able to find some 'anime' to bring as well.”

“That'd be mighty appreciated,” said McCree, pulling over one of the books.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this chapter is a bit shorter than others, it's kind of a transition chapter, I promise the next couple get hefty again


	7. Chapter 7

It was a long few weeks before Genji heard anymore Japanese pass across Hanzo's lips. Which, given everything that he'd been forced to listen to over the pass few months, one might think would be a blessing. Before if you'd asked Genji if he'd have liked it, he wouldn't have just _agreed_ he'd have begged, anything not to hear his brother rhapsodizing about McCree's butt. Now this silence just left him with a sour feeling, because this wasn't just Hanzo deciding not to hide his feelings behind a language barrier anymroe, no, that'd be too easy for the great Hanzo Shimada. Instead he had taken to avoiding McCree entirely.

At first it wasn't hard, what with McCree being in the infirmary and Overwatch being in an uproar over the reappearance of Commander Reyes. Genji could hardly believe himself, had for a moment wondered what sort of painkillers Angela had McCree pumped full of, but Hanzo had corroborated the story though he didn't understand why it had made Genji leap from his chair like an angry cat. Winston and Tracer had apparently already met this “Reaper” character, though going by the noise Winston had made and the look of pure horror on Tracer's face, neither had realized what had lived behind the mask. If “lived” was the right word. McCree and Hanzo had both described a creature capable of absorbing bullets and dissolving into a sentient black smoke. Between that and the analysis of the information they'd managed to collect from the mission, the base was kept bustling.

Through all this though Genji did succeed in eventually hunting Hanzo down – Zenyatta's advice be damned – and all but dragged him to the infirmary. McCree might not be one to admit it but Genji could tell he was getting increasingly despondent over the fact that Hanzo had, _not once_ , come by to check on him like the rest of the team had several times over.

( _“Am I, possibly, the wrong brother?” Genji had asked dryly after walking into the infirmary and seeing McCree's face fall one too many times._

“ _What? Nah. You'll always be my favourite Shimada. Your brother isn't a glowing green cyborg that can kick my ass, is he?” McCree had insisted, making Genji roll his eyes._

_That had certainly been true at one point; when he'd first brought Hanzo into Overwatch's fold McCree would as soon spit at him as speak with him; he'd only started being civil on Genji's repeated insistence that they were trying patch things up and if McCree drove Hanzo away again Genji would melt his belt-buckle down into a dagger and stab him with it. Well that definitely wasn't a problem anymore, so this might be an example of being careful what you wish for._

_At that point though McCree had then attempted to rope Genji into a conversation about some anime or another he was watching while stuck in the infirmary and Genji's brooding was put to rest, at least for the time. Why exactly McCree had decided that a painfully mediocre anime was the appropriate way to spend his time as he waited for his lungs to properly regrow Genji couldn't imagine but it was better than dwelling on the fact that Hanzo was apparently not the only one pining at this point, so he let the conversation get steered that way. Maybe if Genji recommended he watch one with enough obnoxious sexual tension he'd take a hint._ )

Genji wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he'd forced Hanzo down to the infirmary – a short, awkward exchange of pleasantries, maybe? His brother's bluster as he scolded McCree for letting himself get so injured on a mission? No matter what he might _like_ he definitely didn't expect anything particularly appropriate for a hospital visit since Hanzo's bedside manner left _much_ to be desired.

( _Genji could still remember being sixteen and in the hospital after a bad fall from a bought of training. He and Hanzo had been sparring along the estate's wall; already they had been drifting apart at that point, relationship splintering under the weight of other people's expectations. Now looking back on it Genji saw a fuller picture of it, with Hanzo, old in Genji's eyes at the time, still so young and bending beneath the weight of a future placed on him, facing a younger brother who spurned his duties and scorned what Hanzo was working for, while Genji faced an older brother and the entire force of the clan that would break him to bit and guide his entire life if they could. Exhaustion, stress, and insecurity rarely had a way of staying as such though and had long ago grown into resentment and anger for both of them._

_Genji had been distracted, Hanzo had been petty, and it had lead to a rough hit and a bad fall and a final, stringy cry of shocked pain from Genji after he'd crumpled against the steps many feet below them. Genji could still remember Hanzo coming to visit him in the hospital the next morning. Given his flirty ways, one might think Genji would be used to spending the night in strange rooms but being so alone, with only his thoughts, had left Genji feeling sicker than the fall had, and he'd been embarrassingly grateful when Hanzo had appeared the next day. Company, comfort, his big brother. For a moment Genji had been six rather than sixteen, with Hanzo soothing him after he'd fallen out of one of the cherry blossom trees. Then the scolding had come._

“ _You wouldn't be here if you took your training seriously,” Hanzo had snapped, and immediately Genji's hackles were raised._

“ _No 'sorry for breaking your arm, little bro' then, huh?” Genji had said, bitterly._

“ _Not when it's your own fault. This is what comes of skipping training and playing around like a child. If it was only yourself that suffered I wouldn't care, but you dishonour the family, behaving like this. You need to shape up.”_

“ _You're not Father, Hanzo, so don't act like it.”_

“ _If I was, I would have put a stop to your gallivanting by now.”_

“ _If you're so eager to be the boss of me, kill him and take over the family already. That's how all the samurai movies do it, right?”_

_The words had barely left his mouth before they'd curdled sickly in his stomach. He had known he had crossed a line, could feel it in every tense, trembling muscle in his body, could see it in the expression on Hanzo's face, but he had refused to take it back. Whatever else had passed between them that day Genji could no longer remember but he hardly needed to, not when that first part of the visit still hung so memorably in his mind._ )

Still, McCree's face lit up when Hanzo followed Genji in, and that was what Genji had been going for.

“ _Oh thank god,_ ” Hanzo murmured softly in Japanese as he entered the room behind Genji and saw McCree there, alert and smiling. More Japanese hadn't exactly been what Genji had been going for, but at this point it wasn't unwelcome either, if a little sad. _Just tell him that, tell him you were worried,_ Genji thought wistfully, but stepped back to allow Hanzo to do his thing, whatever that thing might be.

(And if Genji noticed the way McCree's eyebrows rose slightly when Hanzo spoke then he thought it nothing more than a silent remark at Hanzo's persistent use of Japanese, or perhaps to tell them not to keep secrets, or that if they were here to amuse him they were speaking the wrong language. He had no reason to think it might mean anything else.)

“You planning on staying rooted there like some sort of prickly old cactus or you gonna come say hi? I promise punctured lungs ain't contagious,” McCree said after a long moment of Hanzo doing nothing.

It should be understood that it had been a fight to get Hanzo here. Not a full-on screaming fight, not this time, but rather the irritable, snide fight of brothers butting heads. Especially when one brother is obviously _right_ and the other is being an ass, as far as Genji was concerned. It had taken cajoling and guilting and a shameless spot of blackmailing to convince Hanzo to be dragged from the corner he'd perched in, and endless needling to keep him moving forward rather than retreating into some dark alcove where he'd never have to face McCree again. So, considering how resistant Hanzo was about the whole thing, Genji had wholly expected him to enter stiffly, offer some awkward, gruff well-wishes, and then scuttling back out as quickly as possible. It was understandable then when, as soon as McCree had spoken, Genji had done a double take. Because in sharp contrast to the fight the two of them had had en route, Hanzo seemed to... soften. His hard edges slackened, the tension eased, and he moved to the chair by the bed where he sat like he intended to stay there for some time.

“You sure took your time coming by – you get lost or something?” McCree ribbed.

Hanzo's face twisted, not into frustration but a deep discomfort. “I thought... _I thought it would be for the best. I... did not want to see what had befallen you, or think about how much worse it could have been... or how I might contribute to that with my presence. I was a coward._ ”

“So, let me take a shot at translating,” said McCree. “Did you say 'Jesse, you're a damn fine specimen of a man, and only half a pair of functioning lungs didn't decrease your beauty none either'? 'Cause that sounds about right to me.”

“I– what? No!  I... that is... I consider working lungs to be a minimum requirement,” said Hanzo, and Genji couldn't help but grin at his obvious embarrassment.

“Rude!” Genji shouted at Hanzo, giving his own metal chest a tap, but Hanzo barely seemed to notice his brother right now. He was entirely focused on grinning at McCree, who was laughing at Hanzo's bad joke.

At this point Genji just shook his head, and wisely chose to make his exit.

-

It had been a busy week for everyone and Zenyatta was pleased to take this time to settle away from the team to meditate on it all. Though he did not know “Gabriel Reyes”, he could tell that he was a person who meant many things to many people, and his return had left all those who had been a part of the previous Overwatch with souls in turmoil. Even those who hadn't known Reyes or Reaper were stressed – from trying to understand the emotions their compatriots were experiencing that they didn't share, from handling with the personal exhaustion after the last mission, from the anxiety of having a friend injured. Zenyatta spent as much time as he could during that week moving among the base, trying to help those around him find the tranquility necessary to cope with their emotions. Now though, after experiencing of so much second hand discord, he needed to move aside and focus on rediscovering his own harmony.

Unlike some people seemed to believe, the sole purpose of these meditation sessions was not simply to empty the mind but to order it, and at times that meant carefully considering and organizing the thoughts of the day – or in the case, the thoughts of several _very_ long days.

A knock at his bedroom door interrupted this attempt, and though his orbs continued their methodical orbit his mind was wrenched back to the present.

“Please, enter,” he said; his door was never locked and McCree slipped quickly in. In his arms he carried a bag and he was looking furtive. Not for the first time, Zenyatta found himself pleased that he did not express emotions as humans did, because he would no doubt be smirking by now and that would be most undignified for a Shambali monk, ex or otherwise.

“I am gladdened to see you have recovered so well, my friend,” he said, gesturing towards his bed, inviting McCree to sit. He did so readily, huffing a weary breath as he did so – obviously still feeling the strain of his injury.

“Yeah, well, you tell that to Angie next time you see her,” McCree drawled. “She'd tan my hide if she caught me here, but I'm telling you it's staring at that ceiling all day that's sapping my strength.”

“Of course,” Zenyatta agreed wryly, though he passed over a charged orb, which McCree took and let lift smoothly from his hands to float lightly around his head. The contented sound McCree made as he leaned against the wall seemed to suggest it was doing its job; Zenyatta, meanwhile, waited patiently for McCree to broach his reason for coming here.

“So...” he said after a few moments of silence, “how exactly to these doohickeys work?”

It was common for people to avoid a difficult question and focus on alternative discussions, to hide or procrastinate their intentions, so Zenyatta answered, “They are filled with a sort of omnic energy – my own – which is able to synchronize to both my own and my intended recipient's energies. You are familiar when I weaponize them: those are orbs filled with destructive energy, my own and those of my target. This one is an orb of harmony.”

“Really,” drawled McCree, “ _you_ have 'destructive energies'? If you'll excuse the pun, you're about the most 'zen' person I've ever met. You've even got Lúcio beat, and that's only 'cause the kid's an internationally recognized rebel.”

“Of course,” answered Zenyatta. “To exist is to experience multitudes. To be tranquil is to balance those multitudes, and to allow none to become too enlarged or too repressed. Do you think I never feel anger or resentment? Genji would happily inform you otherwise, he is always happy to share my more embarrassing moments with those willing listen. You too experience great, destructive energies.” Zenyatta's flat, motionless face stared McCree down as the man attempted not to flinch under it. “Some of it so old and well worn it is more like a dirt path in the forest – not native, but nearly forgotten, practically natural, and unnecessary to have removed. Some of it is fresh and sharp. Some you wish to hide or ignore, some you fan high. These are all a part of you.”

“Ha, yeah, well, coulda told you that,” McCree said. “I'm no monk.”

“No,” agreed Zenyatta, “but nor is destruction _all_ you are. This orb would not be able to attach to you if it were,” he added, gesturing to the orb near McCree's head. “That is an orb of harmony; the energy I put into it allows it to connect with my own harmonious energies, and yours. It helps bring peace, and with peace comes wellness and wholeness.”

“You must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel to find that harmony in my mess of a brain.”

“It is remarkably how eager some people are to misunderstand their own natures,” mused Zenyatta, “especially to their own detriment. You have known many moments of peace and happiness, and will know many more, my friend. Yet you are not the only one eager to think poorly of his own ability to be happy.”

“Sheesh,” said McCree, rubbing at the back of his head, “And here I was thinking I was just asking about weapon specs.”

“My apologies, I did not mean to sound like I was lecturing.”

McCree just hummed uncomfortably. Though he couldn't help but think that if this omnic could sense “energies”, especially discordant energies, then he must be able to feel the underlying anxiety McCree was experiencing from such a near brush with death – and with Reyes. It was harder to play off than he might like to pretend. But sweet Jesus, that was an experience he could never have prepared for. That his commander – the man who had saved his life – was not only alive but... like _that_. A Talon agent. Someone who had fired on him point blank with the intent to kill. Goddamn. It was all... exhausting and overwhelming and McCree was studiously attempting to stamp it down – and it was troubling that Zenyatta seemed to know all of that, or at least know enough to make an educated guess. Then again, he supposed if he was trying to run away from his feelings he'd come to the wrong place.  People like Genji or Lena or Hana were much better for that sort of thing, people who were more than happy to ignore personal issues and fill uncomfortable space with meaningless frivolity. Out of sight, out of mind, right? He hadn't come back to Zenyatta though because he was trying to run from his feelings though, quite the opposite, in fact. Sometimes a you had to buck up and face down the bull, that sort of thing, right? Besides if Zenyatta was able to feel the chaos in an enemy well enough to exploit it with those orbs of his, then McCree how no doubt that he wasn't fooled for a second my McCree's quips and smiles and bluster.

Just as he wasn't fooled by Hanzo's stoicism. Zenyatta hovered peacefully as McCree struggled with their discussion and his own feelings, but it was this very conflict that had compelled Zenyatta to extend his aid in the first place. In Hanzo he could feel the same rage and anxiety that had not so long ago consumed Genji, could feel the way it sucked Hanzo down and threatened to drown out the man he was, the man he could be, under events long passed. He could feel its ebb and flow, and could feel the joy that lurked beneath all that doubt and self-flagellation – the longing to experience life not as an atoner but as a man. And Zenyatta could feel the way it tightened and writhed when he was around McCree, struck immobile by his own misgivings.

McCree, of course, couldn't have known any of this, or how Zenyatta's saw it interwoven around his own intrigues and hopes and joys and uncertainties.

But now McCree _could_ see that Zenyatta potentially had more hidden up his sleeve than he'd led McCree to believe all those days ago when he had first stopped by the infirmary, tone innocent and naive as he offered his company and a very particular skill set.

“Well,” McCree said, mentally stumbling back away from everything Zenyatta had just laid bare, “how 'bout rather than all that we talk about something else. Still mighty lonely, given that Angela won't approve me for missions yet.”

Zenyatta's tone did not so much as quiver away from one of unassuming tranquility. “Did you have something in mind?”

( _That first visit Zenyatta had laid books out across McCree's bed, all with bright colours and neatly printed titles, spelt out in both English and Japanese. Language books, the sort used for teaching._

_Confronted with them and Zenyatta, Jesse McCree rubbed the side of his head as he flipped through one of them. The squiggly little symbols were a mystery as far as he was concerned. “I mean sure, in our anime sessions I may have picked up a little here or there when Genji didn't think the subtitles were doing a good job. But uh, he wasn't exactly what I'd call an adept teacher, anymore than I was an adept student, see?”_

_Truth be told, back then McCree had more been happy that Genji had been talking at all, never mind what language it was in or if it was about animated characters with questionable hair choices. Back then it had only been the all-consuming pain rather than Angela's medical advice that had kept Genji in a bed, and it was all any of them could could do to get more than a monosyllabic grunt out of the kid. It had more been a shot in the dark than a real plan, but McCree had hustled up just enough crudely assembled Japanese words and a tablet full of anime to offend Genji into talking, even if it had mostly been to tell McCree to please, for the love of god, stop trying to speak Japanese. In one afternoon though McCree had got him saying more than most people had managed to squeeze of him in a month, so he'd kept at it. Talking had lead to actually watching the anime and yes, truth be told, Genji had tried to explain bits and pieces of his native language. The human brain though, as far as McCree was concerned, was not meant to hold more than two languages – next thing he knew the Spanish would start oozing out of his ears if he wasn't careful – and Genji, while gifted in many ways, was not a born teacher by any means. Not much had stuck, besides for a more robust knowledge of bad anime than he'd like to admit and a healthy repertoire of Japanese curses that McCree used cheerfully and judiciously down the comm lines whenever he and Genji worked a mission together._

“ _Anyways, I mostly just went along with it 'cause I'd never seen anyone so homesick,” McCree had pointed out to Zenyatta, rather pleadingly as he put the book down._

“ _I suspect it was a desire for more than the familiar that compelled Genji to speak with you,” said Zenyatta honestly. “You are a kind person, McCree, and in my experience you are willing to offer a habour of friendship to any you come across; I can see how Genji was able to seek solace in the time he spent with you, regardless of the activity. Though I know he was touched by your willingness to do something that was so obviously tailored to him. ...To share a language is to share a oneness with another soul that is so intrinsic to life that it is frequently overlooked.”_

_It was one of the stranger compliments that McCree had received in his life but a surprisingly touching one coming from the monk. Zenyatta was an odd fellow but he had a knack for making you feel good about yourself. And he also apparently had a knack for making McCree feel unsure how to explain that he really had no interest in trying to bully his brain into figuring out another language when English worked perfectly fine around the Watchpoint._

_And so, with some reluctance, McCree had agreed to let Zenyatta teach him Japanese since he seemed so bent on it, for whatever reason._ )

And Zenyatta had come back, time and again, while McCree was in the infirmary, and McCree had been bored enough under Angela's strict supervision, and had enjoyed Zenyatta's company and pleasure enough to keep at it. And, just maybe, he was thinking of a certain somebody who just might appreciate a fellow with a talented tongue and the ability to speak Japanese.

_You're secretly a sneaky metal bugger, aren't you?_ McCree thought dryly to himself, but didn't dare speak it out loud. Instead he just opened the bag he'd brought with him and let the language books spill out. “See, I think maybe I was enjoying these lessons of ours more than I'd realized. What say you we keep pushing through some? Assuming I'm not such a bad student I've scared you off.”

“Not at all,” Zenyatta assured him. “It would be my pleasure.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a very action-y chapter so hopefully you all enjoy poking at the characters' brains a bit
> 
> also @everyone who guessed that zenyatta was about to be a hypocritical, meddling little shit, well done, cookies for you


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost there :') I'll probably add a short "tenth chapter" as a sort of epilogue but... almost there
> 
> (also sorry, I meant to have this out way sooner (she says for the hundred time) but I completely forgot about it with the start of the new semester :P Best wishes to everyone else currently one month deep into a new school term, hopefully this provides adequate distraction from your homework)

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when Genji entered the Watchpoint's kitchen. He had only just been released from a surveillance shift, a job which mostly involved just trying not to fall asleep while watching a wall of screens. Oh, and not eating, not since McCree once spilled a grape slushie all over a control panel back in the '60s and they never quite managed to get rid of the stickiness or the smell, not even after replacing it all. Now Winston doesn't let anyone so much as look at a muffin while you're using Overwatch tech. So while it meant fewer crumbs jammed in the keys, it also meant surveillance was hungry work.

Genji rooted around in the communal fridge – back in the heydays they had entire teams of people cooking at all hours to accommodate everyone's schedules and keep the team functioning but now meals were mostly a matter of fending for yourself and hoping someone who actually knew how to cook took pity on everyone else – until he found a container of stew that didn't look too questionable. He vaguely felt it was something Angela had made about a half a week ago, which was promising. Of course, Genji was often willing to eat the less... appetizing meals that had been thrown together, on the grounds that he couldn't actually taste it anyways, but every so often it was nice to eat something and know that if he _could_ taste it he would really enjoy it. After depositing the meal on a plate and heating it up, he was half way to the door when he paused. Normally he chose to eat in the sanctity of his own room, or Zenyatta's. Venturing to the kitchen or lunch room when it was full and busy was usually an act of socializing rather than eating.

But it was too late for most people's lunch and too early for supper; the kitchen was empty.

Beneath his mask, Genji chewed on his lip and considered. He was much more comfortable with his body than he had been last time he'd been in Overwatch – more comfortable than he had been even a year ago. Getting comfortable with people seeing him beneath the shiny cyborg bits was an on going process, but he also knew how pleased Zenyatta would be to hear he had chosen to eat in public, even if it was a very empty, quiet public.

With a sigh Genji returned his plate to the table crammed in the corner of the kitchen, sat down, and carefully removed his faceplate, placing it gently away from him. What was the worse that could happen? he reminded himself. That one or two of his close friends, all of whom were familiar with situation, happen to come by? Genji eased at the thought – remembering that it was only friends and teammates made the entire thing much less intimidating than thinking about the hypothetical masses that viewed him as neither omnic nor human and would only be more horrified yet to see the face that existed beneath the metal. Nothing awful could happen here.

In hindsight, Genji should have realized he was dooming himself the moment he thought that.

“Genji? Hey, we need to talk.”

Genji started as McCree dropped heavily down across from him at the table. Immediately Genji's eyes shot towards his faceplate as the spoonful of stew he had been about to shovel into his face slid back onto the plate with a plop. Genji had spent a long time working closely with McCree and had learnt a lot about his expressions and tones, and for all his grand thoughts not a moment ago Genji was suddenly struck by the feeling that he would rather have it on for whatever conversation was looming.

“Uh... yes?” said Genji.

McCree leaned forward with a disarming smile that Genji didn't trust at all. “You know, that's a good look for you, pardner, nice to see your baby blues every so often. Or... well, whatever you call brown eyes, I guess.”

“Don't try to butter me up,” Genji warned warily.

“Ye of little faith, Shimada,” said McCree, affecting a look of deep offense. “I pay you a compliment and this is what I get? Shame on you. ...While we're, ah, on the subject of ungrateful Shimadas though, I have a question about that brother of yours...”

Genji groaned.

“He's been avoiding me, hasn't he?”

“What?” said Genji. “ _Noo_ , I'm sure he hasn't... Everyone's in a bit of an uproar after the whole Reyes thing...”

McCree frowned. “You're lying. Your eyes are going all shifty.”

How many years exactly now had it been since Genji had needed to worry about his facial expressions giving him away? He made a lunge for his faceplate, but McCree must have guessed his train of thought because he got to it first and snatched it up with a shout of triumph. As McCree leaned back in his seat, mask held far out behind him, Genji calmly considered what his options here were. One was to sit here like an adult and have a frank, honest discussion his brother's self-destructive concepts of what love and affection looked like and the raging insecurity Hanzo apparently had about his ability to support another person, never mind a romantic partner.

Naturally Genji chose the more reasonable option of jumping across the table, inadvertently sending his meal flying, and tackling McCree in an effort to get his faceplate back.

“I am _never_ taking that off around you _ever again_ ,” Genji yelled, as McCree tried to hold it out of Genji's reach – McCree's height was on his side but even made out of metal as he was, trying to hold onto Genji was like trying to keep hold of a damn cat. Genji twisted in McCree's grasp, fingers inches from the prize.

McCree, though, was laughing. “I'll give it back after I shake some answers from you, buddy. Why's your brother leaving the room every time I enter? Did I do something _that_ bad when he visited me in the infirmary? I thought we were awful civil.”

No, as far as Genji understood it McCree had done everything right and that, frustratingly enough, was apparently the problem. Genji had stumbled across Hanzo later that night getting heroic sloshed on sake (well, at first. And after that had run out it looked like he'd moved on to an assortment of bottles pilfered from Törbjorn's stash so who _knew_ what was in those). He had then had the pleasure of trying to shove a very drunk and therefore very boneless Hanzo back to his room while trying to make sense of _what the fuck happened_. Oh, he had gotten a lot of Japanese then. How _easy_ it was to like McCree. How easy it was to love him. How terrifying it was to think that, against his intentions, Hanzo had possibly, _maybe_ made McCree enjoy spending time with him. (“ _That's just called friendship, brother. You're allowed to have friends._ ”) How hard it was to resist when McCree was around. Resist what? Welll that seemed to range from things like smiling at him to dropping work to spend time with him to... well, if Genji had thought it was embarrassed to hear how ruined over Jesse McCree Hanzo was when he was sober, it was nothing compared to hearing it while Hanzo was drunk – he would never be letting Hanzo know what he'd heard that night, _ever_.

But now Genji didn't know what to do because, well, obviously Zenyatta was right. This is what had happened when he'd tried to intervene and force them together. And honestly, he _didn't_ want to cause his brother that sort of distress, no matter how stupid he was being over it all. He'd said his piece to Hanzo, so did he really have any choice but to simply step back and allow the situation to sort itself out, for better or worse? And what was better, what was worse? He didn't want to think that Hanzo's determination to be self-isolating was the “better” outcome, but surely this, being miserable and drunk and scared, wasn't good either?

And now that Genji was being relentlessly faced down by McCree he found he had no fucking idea what to do. Tell him or not? Try to push them together or not? Listen to Zenyatta or not?

Goddammit he'd just wanted a quiet lunch.

“Random coincidence?” Genji offered desperately.

“Mmhm,” said McCree, giving an almighty lurch when Genji made another grab for the mask, effectively flopping Genji onto his back while McCree sat squarely on his chest, holding the faceplate well above him. “Wanna try again? Seems like before I was running into him almost constant, and now...”

“How should I... I... oh. Um. Hey there...” said Genji and McCree's head shot around to where Genji was looking.

In the doorway stood Winston, Tracer, and Hanzo, all staring down at them with expressions varying between unsurprised and amused (Tracer), unsurprised and disapproving (Winston), and visible perturbed (Hanzo). Genji was abruptly very away that they were both covered in the stew that Genji had knocked over in his jump, complete with bits of potato stuck in McCree's hair, while McCree's hat sat half-crumpled a foot over and at least two chairs were overturned.

“Uh... howdy?” offered McCree with a winsome smile.

“Do I want to know?” asked Winston.

Genji decided now was a good time to take advantage of the situation and promptly kneed McCree in the ribs, tossed him over sideways to free himself, and snatched his mask back.

“We were having a... uh, professional exchange of ideas,” said Genji once his faceplate was snugly back in place.

“ _Genji if this was intentional I will make your life a misery,_ ” said Hanzo, his expression bland, revealing nothing.

Genji, glancing at McCree, abruptly saw what Hanzo meant. The cowboy was... well, perhaps “rumpled” was the best word. And really being sticky with stew shouldn't do anyone any favours looks-wise, but given that McCree seemed like he was made out of dust and horse sweat half the time anyway he had a weird way of looking endearing no matter what he did. Right now was no exception. Now, Genji would just like to make it very clear he did not nor had he ever had feelings like that for McCree – he'd been too angry and pained and disgusted with his own body and mind to contemplate it when they'd first been in Overwatch together, and now he had Zenyatta. But he also _got it_. Without his hat McCree's hair was tousled and wild and very touchable, and his plaid shirt had lost the top most buttons, most likely when Genji had grappled him, and his face was flushed with exertion.

(McCree was also now watching Hanzo with a _very_ fixed expression, one of abnormal concentration, that Genji couldn't quite make heads or tails of, but if the way Hanzo's cheeks were darkening under the scrutiny was to be taken seriously then apparently that intensity was really working for him and– _wow okay_ Genji was ready to stop thinking about this.)

“ _I promise you it wasn't_ ,” Genji said firmly. “ _But... well, if you suddenly felt compelled to, say, talk about that giant crush of yours in a big, glorious, stew-covered heart-to-heart..._ ”

Hanzo frowned at Genji (and McCree's eyebrows rose higher).

“Okay,” said Winston, ignoring whatever exchange was going on between the Shimadas, “I'm going to walk over there, get my bananas, and then leave. And this'll be cleaned up before dinner. And I _will_ have Athena watch you to make sure this place is spotless,” he threatened, carefully padding around the big splotches of stew.

“Fine, _mom_ ,” McCree huffed. “Genji started it though.”

“You _liar_ –”

Winston just shook his head and went to leave the room, followed by Hanzo and Tracer, who started talking about whatever subject they'd broken off from. Though not without a backwards glance from Hanzo.

“Hey, wait!” called McCree before they'd left. “Say, um, Hanzo. Aren't'cha gonna stay and help?”

Hanzo paused and frowned at McCree. “I had nothing to do with this mess, or the childish antics that led up to it.”

“Oh yeah?” grumbled Genji.

McCree just ran a hand through his already ruffled hair. Genji narrowed his eyes behind his faceplate – that looked _very_ intentional. Could he... no, surely not.

“Come on, help a fella out,” said McCree. “It'd be your good deed of the day. 'Sides, seems like ages since we've chatted.”

Hanzo's gaze followed McCree's hand before snapping back to attention. “I... do not believe that'd be a good idea. Right now. I, ah, must continue this meeting with Winston...”

Tracer, who was watching all this with an amused, critical eye, said, “Oh, I'm sure we can get along alright without you for a little bit, luv. We can catch you up to speed later, no problem.”

“ _Are you all conspiring against me–_ ” said Hanzo in Japanese, though grit teeth. “That's quite alright. I have no desire to clean up someone else's mess. Please, let us continue.” And with Hanzo leading the way, a now increasingly confused Tracer and Winston left the kitchen.

McCree crossed his arms and stared at Genji. “You fuckers are up to something.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Genji shot back. “Now help me find a rag.”

-

Genji was the one who dragged Hanzo to the movie night Tracer had been spearheading.

(“Everyone's all in a tizzy lately,” she had told Genji. “Y'know, what with missions coming in again and Talon activity on the rise, and that data-mine of Winston's and...” A quick glance around as if to make sure McCree hadn't suddenly appeared under the table or something. “...and the whole, uh, _Reaper_ thing. It's not good for a person to be this wound up all the time! So we're going to have a good, old-fashioned movie night with lots of blankets and hot cocoa and _relaxation_. No exceptions! I'm sure I could get it on doctor's orders if I explained it to Angela.”)

Because, honestly, at this point Hanzo was being just plain reclusive; McCree hadn't been wrong after all, Hanzo was definitely, blatantly avoiding him. And yet this wasn't about McCree this time, not really. Well, not wholly. Mostly it was just the fact that Genji couldn't stop thinking about Hanzo being afraid that if he got close with anyone it would somehow end in death and misery, and the fact that he didn't seem to realize that _there were already people in Overwatch that cared about him_. Genji had spent enough time as a teenager watching Hanzo wallow his life away in musty rooms and training dojos trying to please other people. Back then though he'd been so wrapped up in his own issues that he'd never even stopped to think that was anything but what Hanzo wanted, that it was anything but his stuffy, _perfect_ older brother doing what stuffy, perfect older brothers did. Now though he was resolved that he wasn't going to sit back and let Hanzo do it for the rest of his life.

(And, well, even if Genji couldn't just force Hanzo and McCree's heads together and be done with it, he could at least make his brother sit in the same room as McCree without springing to his feet like a startled cat and make him stay there for a few hours.)

Perhaps mentioning how long it had been since they'd done anything as simple as watch a movie together like brothers was a slightly underhanded way of convincing Hanzo to come, but drastic times, right? And so Genji had strolled in with Hanzo in tow – nearly dragged him when Hanzo caught sight of McCree sitting on the floor next to Lena as she flipped through a screen displaying their movie library – and shoved him down onto an open couch. Hanzo immediately pressed himself into the corner against the couch's battered arm, as if every millimeter was an important degree of separation from McCree; Genji sat on the other end of the room, in a massive, squishy armchair that allowed him a good view of Hanzo, so he could make sure he didn't bolt.

“Hey! Hanzo! Genji!” McCree called cheeky grin splitting his face as he held up the tablet to show a movie title. “What do you think of this one? Lena's shooting me down, back me up here!”

Genji rolled his eyes behind his mask. It was a movie at least a decade old by now and remarkably only because of how bad it was. Not even the amusing sort of bad that you make fun of, just genuinely _awful_.

“If you truly believe you can sit through all two and a half hours of that, then by all means, put it on,” said Hanzo dryly.

“Ha! Called out,” laughed Tracer, shoving McCree with her foot and snatching back the tablet.

McCree couldn't even argue it, he just laughed, a deep laugh that started low his stomach and seemed to roll up and out, getting louder and deeper, shaking his entire body with each new wave of laughter. Rather than pay attention to McCree though, Genji watched his brother, baffled and mesmerized by how soft Hanzo's face could go when around McCree who was simply... being McCree. There was something startling in the way it seemed to strip the lines and the grey from Hanzo's face and remind the world that this was a man still in his thirties.

“ _You are so beautiful,_ ” said Hanzo with heartbreaking earnestness. That was what finally made Genji turn away, the feeling once more that he was witnessing something that, even out in the open as it was, was meant to be private.

McCree simply stared. His mouth moved, forming the shape of some silent word, as his cheeks seemed to colour. “Hanzo...” He paused, seemed to fumble with his words, then simply sighed. “Hanzo, d'you wanna help pick a film or what?”

Hanzo looked away, pushing himself deeper into the couch he was sat in. “No. Thank you. I don't care what you choose. I am not planning to stay for it all in any case.”

McCree frowned at that but just shrugged, letting it drop.

He did, however, settle on the couch next to Hanzo as soon as the movie was set up. And if he was pressed a bit closer than even the full, cramped couch demanded, well, no one noticed or commented. Nor did they comment on the fact that, rather than get up and leave as he had promised he would, Hanzo stayed pressed in his corner of the couch through the entire movie, with the solid weight of McCree's arm pressed against his own. They didn't even comment when, half an hour into the first movie when blankets were passed around, Hanzo began to yawn and, finally, he head drooped against McCree's shoulder. (The only person who visibly reacted as McCree himself, who stiffened immediately and sat rigidly straight after that, afraid to so much as twitch.)

And it was only McCree who commented once the second film was over and everyone was leaving. Everyone except Hanzo, who now lay curled against the arm of the couch, fast asleep under the blankets.

“Not sure I've ever actually seen him sleep,” McCree commented. “Besides for that night in the hotel, that is, but I mean just... fall asleep somewhere. 'Cause you're tired and any horizontal surface becomes damn comfy. I'm mean with a job like this it's not exactly uncommon to find someone passed out in the common rooms or on the kitchen table or somethin'. But Hanzo's more high-strung than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs most days. Shame, he seems like the sort of fellow that could use a good night's sleep.”

“I know he has trouble sleeping, even in his own bed,” Genji said, from where he was still sitting across the room, in the big armchair with Zenyatta. “We haven't exactly... talked in depth about it, but... I know how one's thoughts can plague you once darkness comes. I'm glad he felt comfortable enough to fall asleep here, it will do him good – unless he just passed out from exhaustion, that is” he added wryly.

“Your brother is currently at peace,” said Zenyatta softly. “For the duration of the movie, his soul has been very calm.”

“Huh,” said McCree idly, nominally looking at Zenyatta but Genji could see how he kept glancing back out the corner of his eyes at Hanzo. “Fancy that. Well, good for him I supposed.”

“It would probably be wise for us to take encouragement from Hanzo and seek our own beds,” said Zenyatta after a moment's silence.

“Oh, right,” agreed Genji. “You coming, McCree?”

“What? Oh... naw, not just yet. I, uh... left a tablet out here, had a couple things I wanted to look over before hitting the hay. You head off though. See you tomorrow, Genji, Zen.”

“Right,” murmured Genji to Zenyatta as they left the room, “I'll bet that's what he wants to look at.” Zenyatta's soft laughter followed them down the hall as they left McCree and Hanzo alone in the dimly lit room.

-

“Howdy, Zenyatta, how's the big eyeball today?”

“The Iris is... warm. And how are you, McCree? Back for another lesson? I am rather surprised, you seem to be enjoying them much more than you'd expressed back when you were stuck in the infirmary.”

“I rightly am,” said McCree. “I've had... some darn good motivation, lately. ...You know something 'bout all of this, don't'cha?”

“I know many things,” Zenyatta agreed serenely. “As does everyone. Am I not helping you learn something new, even now?”

“I suppose you are at that,” said McCree, tossing himself down on Zenyatta's bed. “I suppose you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the repeated little scene with Zenyatta aren't feeling repetitive... but I really wanted to drive home the fact that this isn't a magic-hand-wavy now-you-know-a-new-language thing. I mean, it's still probably happening a little quickly for reality, but it is taking genuine time and effort on McCree's part. Hanzo, look at how much he cares about you.
> 
> (also I can't remember if I mentioned it before, but I'm sorry I don't respond to all your lovely comments immediately when I get them. When I'm writing multichapter fics, it helps to see the little number of messages in my inbox just 'cause it reminds me that there are, despite all odds, people interested in it. But! I read and love them all! Bless you!)


	9. Chapter 9

McCree sidled into the infirmary, trying to look as nonchalant as a person can when he's very obviously peering around the curtains set up between the beds. All of which were currently empty. This was both a blessing (of course, he'd never wish any harm on a single one of his teammates – well, mostly, it depended at least partially on how many times he let Hana talk him into a “friendly competition” with her and then how many subsequent times she kicked his ass at some game or another) but given that he was currently hunting for someone it also meant he couldn't help but be disappointed at not finding him.

“What exactly do you think you're doing, Jesse,” Angela asked, looking up from her desk at the back of the room. Gone were her wings and armour, replaced with an oversized sweater, a huge mug of what smelt like very black coffee, and multiple screens showing page after page of very small, cramped, technical-looking writing. And a very skeptical expression as she watched him poke around her infirmary.

“Oh, y'know... just lookin'.”

“If you're window shopping for a nice bed the next time your injured, I'll have to warn you I don't take reservations,” she said. “In fact, you could even consider giving me a rest by staying in one piece for the next week or two.”

“Aw, you'd miss my visits if I did that, doc,” said McCree as he ambled up to lean against her desk.

“I'm sure,” said Angela dryly. “So what _were_ you looking for, Jesse?”

“Well...” McCree tugged at his beard, trying to decide whether to deflect or not. It was tempting. But more eyes, right? Besides, he'd never been any good at lying to Angela; he supposed it was part of her docterly training, but she had a way of shaking the truth from him with a look. “Hanzo, actually. You haven't seen him, have you? I swear I've hunted over half this base.”

“If you're having so much difficulty, why not simply ask Athena?”

“She might squeal on me,” said McCree. “Then next thing I know, bam, he's gone to ground again.”

“You're looking for a teammate, not running a Blackwatch op,” said Angela dryly.

“Yeah, and sometimes I think the latter might be easier,” McCree muttered.

“In any case, I would do no such thing,” came Athena's voice from the ceiling. “I respect agent privacy; unless I believed it was urgent I would keep your confidence.”

“Maybe. One way or another though there're some things I don't need being shared around. ...Not that it's done me any good at this point,” he added with a sharp look at the ceiling. Winston and his nosy, spying AI...

That was the wrong thing to say though, because now Angela was looking intrigued. “Why would you not want it shared that you're looking for Genji's brother?”

“Aw come on, Angie, it's not _that_ , I just don't need everyone hearing that the great Jesse McCree can't even find one bloke in a small, contained building.”

Angela did _not_ look convinced, but McCree resolutely pretended not to see it. “Well, if you haven't seen him, I better shove off...”

“Wait, wait, I didn't say I hadn't seen him, I simply asked why you didn't take the easier route of asking Athena.”

“So you _have_ seen him?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I bumped into him when I was looking for Törbjorn to fix the coffee machine,” she said, and then raised a hand to cut McCree off when he opened his mouth to demand more information. “ _If_ you tell me what it is you don't want everyone to know.”

“Right, like this won't immediately become gossip fodder between you, Mei, and Fareeha,” McCree muttered, but when Angela kept smiling innocently he sighed and gave in. “Fine, but I'm gonna need something alcoholic first. It's been a weird few weeks for me an' a _long_ day so far.”

Angela raised her eyebrows. “This is a _medical_ facility–”

“Then I'll take some of your _medicinal_ alcohol, I know you docs have that sorta stuff...”

With a roll of her eyes, Angela acquiesced and pulled a bottle out from inside her desk. At McCree's look she said, rather defensively, “It's medicinal for _me_. I have some very long days too.”

“Well, I'm not gonna argue. I could use some proper liquid courage if I'm gonna see this through and actually go talk to that stubborn ass.”

-

_McCree wasn't the only one who had been having a weird few weeks._

_If you had ever tried to tell Genji that things would get weirder than him living as a cyborg with a bunch of omnics in the middle of Nepal while training to be a monk, he'd have laughed. Or possibly cried, depending on when you told him. Now though it was becoming par for course. Apparently being a disbanded, illegal organization that was only a fraction of its original size didn't stop Overwatch from constantly striving to out-weird itself on the regular._

_In this case that weird was coming from McCree. That in and of itself wasn't strange, but McCree was being weird even... well, for McCree. Even Hanzo had noticed._

“ _...Are you okay?” Hanzo asked, breaking off from his conversation with Genji to switch back to English._

_(Well, “conversation” might have been pushing it. He had been lamenting about how much he wanted to introduce McCree to proper Japanese food rather than what passed for cheap, two-bit sushi around here. Genji was just counting it as a win that Hanzo was willingly acknowledging this Thing at all, it was a little better after his aggressive shutting off of all feelings after the Infirmary Incident. You'd think being forced to listen to Hanzo basically plan out a hypothetical date he would never go on would be the weirdest thing in Genji's day but that was before McCree entered the room and then promptly ran face first into a table.)_

_(It was actually rather impressive, McCree had flipped fully over it, spilling a can of coke all over the place.)_

“ _What? What? Yeah, fine, I'm fine, just... fucking dandy,” said McCree hastily as he picked himself up. He was gaping at Hanzo like a goldfish, he didn't even seem to notice the state of his now soaked, sticky serape._

“ _...Okay...” said Hanzo, unconvinced. McCree kept staring. Hanzo cast Genji a pleading glance._

“ _You've been running into things a lot lately,” said Genji carefully. “Are you sure you shouldn't go talk to Angie? Something might have gone wrong with your healing if you're having problems with depth perception or vision...”_

“ _Uh. No. No, I... think I'm fine. Just been... distracted, lately.”_

“ _I'll say,” said Genji. “Slam your face into too many more walls and Angie's gonna have to build you a body like mine.”_

“ _This clumsiness is getting chronic, cowboy,” said Hanzo. “Be more careful.”_

_(And was it ever. It was like McCree was tripping over the tension Hanzo was oozing, because Genji swore he always seemed to find something new to crash into every time Hanzo started saying anything about or to him in Japanese. He wasn't too concerned though. Last time it had happened Zenyatta had just chuckled; Genji was sure if there was anything actually wrong then Zenyatta would have helped, he'd have been able to tell if something truly worrying was on Hanzo's mind.)_

“ _Ah, right,” said McCree, finally looking abashed. “I'll, uh... just get going an' work on that, I guess,” he said awkwardly, shuffling out of the room._

_And leaving the mess for Genji to clean up. Great._

“Why do I like that? _” Hanzo moaned._

“We've known since you stubbornly wore that gross ponytail all through highschool that I was the only one in this family with good taste, _” said Genji with mock sympathy, patting Hanzo's arm. “_ I could show McCree pictures of it if you like, that'd keep you safe from him ever respricating your feelings– _ow! No need to getting physical, I was just trying to help. Some people have no gratitude.”_

-

As he entered the room McCree's eyes immediately landed on Hanzo – so Angela's information, after she'd finished gaping at McCree, had been good. After spending the entire damn morning searching for the man, here he was sitting in a chair in an empty communications office with a holo in his hands. Or, well, he had been sitting. As soon as he'd heard the shuffling of someone by the doorway, Hanzo had glanced up out of the corner of his eyes and then stood up, casually as you like, as if he'd just so conveniently remembered something he needed to do elsewhere. Something that conveniently came to him the second McCree entered the room. McCree was a remarkably good memory aid for Hanzo, if the past little while was anything to go by. Two could play at that game though, and McCree was tired of being brushed off; he leaned in the doorway, with his shoulder against the frame and his long legs stretched (“casually”) across the entry way, so that if Hanzo wanted to get by him he'd have to go through him bodily. ...Which, to be fair, he was absolutely capable of doing, but he wouldn't be able to pretend it was casual anymore that way at least.

(And okay the idea of being manhandled by Hanzo Shimada should _really_ not be as appealing as it was. Get it together, McCree. You're annoyed with him.)

“Hey there, Shimada.”

“Hello, McCree,” said Hanzo, standing awkwardly before him and the blocked door. “It has been a little while since we've talked. I'm glad to see you on your feet and well again.”

Right, as if it wasn't Hanzo's fault they haven't talked since he and Genji had visited McCree in the infirmary. “Ah, well,” said McCree with a shrug. “I don't go down that easily. You know what they say, 'try to cut off a cowboy's head and he can still bite' or whatever.”

And like a flash, Hanzo's mouth twitched up into a smile, so quick McCree almost missed it.

“I believe it is _snakes_ that you're referring to,” said Hanzo. “And they _do_ still die after that.”

“Do they? Huh. Well, I imagine they wouldn't if they had a snake-Mercy telling 'em to get their tails in gear and stop whining.”

That one managed to work a laugh from Hanzo, and wow, if something as simple as that managed to ignite such a warm feeling in McCree's chest then he really was in too deep. But then before McCree could properly revel in the afterglow of _Hanzo laughing_ – or heck, even just of talking to him – for the first time in ages, Hanzo dragged a hand down his face, as if to wipe the laughter and smiles away.

“Yes, she can be rather intimidating when she believes it's for the best of her patience,” Hanzo agreed. “ _If it means your wellness is assured, then I treasure it._ Still, it is good to see you well, but I must go and consult Tracer about–”

'Course _just talking_ would be too easy. Talking had always come easy to McCree, he wasn't the sort of person who struggled to connect with people, friends or strangers alike, but somehow things that normally came easy to him McCree suddenly had to work hard for with Hanzo. There would almost be something satisfying about trying to coax Hanzo out of his shell if it weren't so damn annoying.

As Hanzo took a step towards the door, his intentions clear, McCree flung out an arm, bracing his hand on the opposite side of the frame. And just like that all pretense of coincidence and ease between them evaporated; Hanzo frowned warningly, eyes immediately hard.

“Hang on a moment there, pardner. I didn't just stumble in here by accident, I was actually looking for you. I– look. It's time we talked, Hanzo.”

“And what is it you wish to discuss?” asked Hanzo frostily.

“Look, no more pussyfooting around, Shimada, we're both grown ass adults and I'm ready to talk like one.”

“I don't know what you're–”

“What I'm talking about? You'd be amazed by how often I've been hearin' that lately,” McCree grumbled. “Fine, I'll spell it out. Why are you–” And abruptly he stopped, as if thinking better of something. “Why are you avoiding me?” he asked instead.

A tic jumped in Hanzo's jaw – so McCree had hit a nerve. “I don't know what you're talking about,” said Hanzo with more force than necessary. It sounded like an argument he had had before, but not with McCree. “We've both been busy, and...”

“And this is, what, the sort of 'busy' that lets you sit happy as you please in a chair until the exact moment I enter a room? Because if so, you've been _really_ wrapped up in _that_ sort of 'busy' lately.”

“You are seeing problems where they do not exist,” said Hanzo stiffly.

“Look, Hanzo, I'm not asking for... well, anything, really. Not even asking for it to change. If you've decided you've had enough of my annoying ass then fine, you can kiss it good bye for all I care. But you tell me to my face if you've got a problem with me. You do that, I'm gone, out of your hair – I see no reason to bother folk around me that don't wanna be bothered. But I don't get it because– because– _ugh._ ”

McCree broke off, rubbed the heels of palm against his eyes in frustration. He _wanted_ to say that he didn't understand why Hanzo could say what he did to Genji about him... and then turn around and act like this. He wanted to say he didn't understand what Hanzo was feeling or what he wanted from him. He wanted to know why all of this was a big fucking secret, why _he_ was being kept in the dark about it all. Fuck, was it a joke to Hanzo? But he _couldn't_ say that because that would mean admitting he'd been eavesdropping on Hanzo without his knowledge, no matter how unintentional. They were actually here, in front of each other, talking, but McCree still felt everything he wanted to say getting bottled up and cut off and it was driving him _nuts_ , he wanted to scream, or punch something, or just fucking kiss Hanzo Shimada, consequences be damned, because at least then they'd be past... whatever this was.

“I don't get it,” said McCree, slow and measured, “because it seemed to _me_ at least that we were getting along pretty well.”

“We were.”

Hanzo wasn't meeting his eyes. McCree shook his head. _Then why won't you say all that shit to my face?_ “Then I don't get it. What's up?”

“Please, McCree... there is nothing to discuss. You were ill, I was busy, we unfortunately kept messing one another in passing. I am sure it won't happen any longer.”

“Look is this about the mission? Because this isn't my first rodeo, I know how people can get about these things. But if this is some guilt thing, about not watching my back well enough or something...”

By the way Hanzo blinked at him McCree realized right away it obviously wasn't that. It half looked like the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. And maybe McCree should've realized that wouldn't be the issue, Hanzo was obviously no beginner to all this after all. Still, that realization was more than a bit of a relief – while McCree could sympathize with a new partner getting panicked over a mission gone sideways, especially one where the other person was playing look-out, it got tiring having someone assume it was all their fault and that you weren't capable enough to carry your own blame. McCree never had to deal with that shit while Reyes was still here, at least. The man knew what you were capable of and if you got injured in the field when you could have prevented it, you could be sure you'd get a hospital visit from him expressly to chew you out and tell you how to not make the same mistake again. To be honest, even Reyes being the one to land him in the infirmary in the first place, a part of McCree had been waiting for the man to storm through the doors and yell at him for letting someone who was obviously adept at close combat get that close to him.

_Damn_ , McCree was tired. Tired of all the mystery and confusion happening in the field, all the enigma about Talon, about what they wanted with Mondatta's assassination, and now why the fuck Reyes was with them and what he had become. McCree just wanted a clear cut obvious target to shoot at, goddammit all. And now he had to deal with this shit back on the base too; why couldn't Hanzo just own up and make McCree's life a little fucking easier.

“Okay, so it's not that. But it's something. Just talk to me,” McCree said. Begged. _You already know what you want to say, just say it to me._

“About the mission,” Hanzo started, and god McCree knew an attempted distraction when he heard one, “I have been meaning to return this to you...” From one of the pouches at his waist he drew out–

“Peacekeeper!” McCree exclaimed, accepting it with eager hands, running loving fingers over its silver surface, a gentle caress as he turned it over looking for any new imperfections. Under normal circumstances he might be a little embarrassed about falling for Hanzo's bait that easily, but right now he was just thrilled to have his best girl back. “Shit. None of the others had seen hide nor hair of it, I thought I must have lost it during... well, you know. Or that maybe Reyes had taken it back with him, like a trophy or somethin'. Was trying to decide how I'd have to go about replacing it.” He beamed up at Hanzo. “ _Thank you_. It means a lot to me, this stupid old peashooter.”

Hanzo's face twisted in a series of emotions that were almost acrobatic. McCree watched, confused, longing, wishing he could understand what was happening under this man's normally stoic exterior with the same ease that Zenyatta seemed to see under his. Shock, grief, pleasure – all of that, none of it, he couldn't say. He did see the way his cheeks and ears darkened, and McCree suddenly found himself thinking of Reyes again.

Several months after he'd been formally taken off probation and accepted into Blackwatch, he remembered confronting Reyes after a few drinks, demanding to know why the hell Reyes would think it was a good idea to pick up an underaged criminal without the sense to avoid getting caught. It'd been eating at him for a long time, that question, the question of what Reyes had seen in him. At first, to a young, arrogant Jesse, it'd been obvious: he was the best deadeye in Deadlock. Who wouldn't want him on their side? After joining Blackwatch though that thought had evaporated. He was good, sure, but this was an elite black ops team. You had to be more than good, and every single man, woman, and agent on the team was more than good. He didn't stand out, not really. So why keep him, why bother? And it had been obvious that the others hadn't supported Reyes' idea, at least not fully. So why make such a stupid, split second decision; what was Jesse doing that was earning his bread? “Because,” Reyes had answered, barely deigning to give such a drunken Jesse his full attention, “it was a situation that called for action. I could've held back and thought about it more, sure, maybe even decided against it, but by then it wouldn't matter 'cause you'd be in the court system and I'd have no choice at all. I wanted that choice and I wanted you to have that choice. If you're ever going to be a leader some day, McCree, and not just a half-assed follower, you're gonna learn to make a snap decision because it's the best option and figure out the consequences afterwards, 'cause they'll be better than never having done anything. Now go take a cold shower and sleep that drink off.”

McCree doubted this was what Reyes had been talking about at the time, but when had he ever really understood what his commander was talking about? Besides, it was obvious that Hanzo wasn't going to be doing anything else here except try to get away from McCree.

“Hey, Hanzo, look... Why don't I thank you for finding my gun by treating you to coffee? Sounds fair to you? We could make a day of it – get off the Rock for a bit, wander around by the beach, the whole shebang.”

Another thing McCree had learnt in his years with Blackwatch: sometimes more was being said by what _wasn't_ being said than by what was. Reading between the lines, that sort of thing. Reyes had always accused him of being too damn loud to pick up on that sort of thing, but even McCree couldn't help but notice that Hanzo neither agreed nor refused immediately. Surely he would either want to and say yes, or not want to and say no. So there was something more at work going on here, something making him debate with himself, of that McCree was sure – he could see it in the way the skin around Hanzo's cheeks stayed dark and his jaw became clenched as he seemed to hold back the words locked behind them.

“No. Thank you,” said Hanzo at last.

“Aw, come on, can't be any worse an idea than our midnight chili session. Why not?”

Hanzo muttered something in Japanese. Except this time, thanks to Zenyatta, this times those words weren't an unintelligible if pretty sounding string of sounds. This time, as he had become increasingly capable of over the past few weeks, Jesse McCree could at least attempt to make sense of it. “ _That was also a bad idea_ ,” Hanzo said. Now why in Pete's name would that have been a bad idea? Because Genji had interrupted? Hanzo had seemed to be enjoying himself at the time...

Because it was McCree. No real two ways around it. Because there was something about spending time with McCree that was “bad”, even though he kept doing it and kept enjoying himself, in so far as McCree could tell.

Rather than voice that thought in English though, Hanzo simply said, “There simply isn't time to go down to town.”

“They keepin' all this work a secret from me?” McCree asked. “'Cause I reckon I could spare an afternoon if you could.”

“Fine,” Hanzo snapped, “perhaps I simply do not want to spend my little free time in your company.”

And McCree let his arm fall from the doorframe, the sting of Hanzo's words sharp and unexpected, the sort of precision strike that hit every nagging concern or fear. Had he finally crossed the threshold and been that little bit too loud, that little bit too annoying, that little bit too self-absorbed or flippant or rude or...? But then just as Hanzo passed into the hall, the little hissing voice in his head turned back into Reyes' again and McCree's hand shot out, grabbing a hold of Hanzo's arm before he could go any further.

“Something's been keeping you from hangin' around me lately,” McCree said to the back of Hanzo's head, “something's been scaring you off. And call it a gut instinct, or arrogance, or whatever, but I don't reckon it's just my charming personality that's putting you off. Come on, it's just coffee. What are you so afraid of?”

Hanzo didn't turn, but McCree could see the way his head drooped just a fraction, the way his shoulders tightened minutely; there was anguish in the hard lines Hanzo's back and old grief turning his words sharp. “Let it go, McCree.”

“No. Never took you for a coward, Shimada. So tell me. What are you afraid of.”

“ _Do you not think I might be afraid for you!_ ” Hanzo shouted, rounding on McCree with his voice cracking over the Japanese in a way McCree had never heard before.

McCree, for his part, didn't move even with Hanzo's furious, desperate face inches from his own; he just kept his hand locked firmly around Hanzo's wrist. If anything, he held perhaps a little tighter. For a moment they stood in a silent tableau, as McCree's heart fluttered and as Hanzo tried to get his emotions sufficiently under control to find something pacifying and meaningless to say in English, something to brush off the emotions throbbing in his throat.

And then McCree spoke. “Well damn, sweetheart, don't you think just maybe I can take care of myself? Or that I might be worried about you too, running around half-naked out there? But I still trust you to shove your bow up someone's ass before they can stick you too badly.”

At first Hanzo's expression simply twisted, like he was about to respond, when it froze. And the colour slowly leeched out of it, a look of horror settled across his face as he slowly realized what McCree had said and to what exactly McCree had been responding.

Finally Hanzo asked, “How much–?”

So the cat was out of the bag and honestly it was a relief.

“If you're referring to your sweet wooing of me, I suppose that'd depend how long it's been going on for. ...But I suspect I've not heard as much as you're thinking, if all that mumbled Japanese of yours from earlier is any indication. I came by this particular skill not long ago. It's, uh... very much a work in progress.”

Actually, maybe the whiteness of Hanzo's face wasn't so much horror as pure, furious _outrage_. It was hard to tell on a normally stoic face like Hanzo's.

“Genji,” he started to growl, nearly jerking his wrist free of McCree's hold, as if he intended to hunt Genji down right then and there, but McCree interrupted.

“Nah, nah, it wasn't your brother.”

“Then who...?”

“Let's just say that that brother of yours keeps good company,” said McCree wryly.

Hanzo _definitely_ wasn't looking at McCree now and his face was _very_ definitely red. It would be endearing if it weren't for the words that came out of his mouth next.

“In that case you... you have my apologies. I would have never said such things if I thought you could hear me. That is... beyond inappropriate, and unprofessional, and...”

“Ah for fuck's sake,” McCree said, flinging Hanzo's arm aside in frustration. “We still stuck there? Who cares whether you'd've said it or not, you would've been thinking it either way, right?”

“That's not the point...”

“No, the point is you having your head so far up your–”

“Are you _fighting with me_ about _my own feelings_?” Hanzo demanded, finally rounding on McCree his glare in full force. “Kindly give me the dignity of knowing and acting on my own emotions, unless you think you know them better? You're as bad as Genji.”

“If that's what your brother's been sayin' to you in Japanese, then I'd say he's got his head screwed on right.”

“Listen, McCree, I am sorry for ignoring you and if you wish to continue our... acquaintance, then so be it. But nothing more can come of it. You can't– _I_ can't...”

“Well, which is it? Me or you?”

“You could die!” Hanzo exploded.

McCree blinked. “...Now hold up, I thought we agreed that that whole cock-up of a mission wasn't the issue here, I thought you weren't–”

“Do you not understand? The last person who cared for me, _I nearly killed_. For _years_ I believed I had done just that. These sorts of... of relationships, they blind you to threats, and I do not want to be the person who blinds you. So please. Drop it, McCree. I can't do that again.”

“What, when you attacked Genji? Wait. That was... what, ten years ago?”

“So he keeps telling me,” said Hanzo sourly. “Do you think time alone can make up for what I did...”

“Not really, no,” said McCree, stopping Hanzo up short. “And I'm sure I don't need to remind you that I didn't care a lick for you when Genji first dragged you along. But just 'cause time doesn't wipe your slate clean doesn't mean it can't be at least tidied up a bit. People _deserve_ second chances. I got one. And you seem to be doing pretty well with yours – hell, that's why I didn't stick you one the moment I caught sight of the person who tried to murder my friend. But that wasn't my point. Ten years. A whole bloody decade. You mean to tell me you didn't think you've had a single person who cares about you in that whole time?”

“I... No. After... after what I did, I could no longer stay with the clan. I turned on them. I may have destroyed Genji but I made sure my family befell a similar fate soon after. There is no one left. And I am alone. And for a murderer, that is the safest for all involved.”

McCree sighed, slouching more heavily against the wall. There was a whole lot of issues bottled up in this conversation and McCree knew he didn't have the skills to untangle it all. Zenyatta may have helped him out with a few language skills here and there, but McCree felt sharply that the monk himself would do so much better here. It felt a little like diffusing a bomb – one wrong move, and who knew what sort of damage McCree was about to cause. Still, he couldn't just walk away from a talk like this, could he? At this point it didn't even have anything to do with whether or not McCree liked Hanzo (or, well, maybe like-liked if you wanted to go full middle school) but had everything to do with a good man being a right fucking idiot.

“You haven't lost Genji though,” McCree said. “Sure, you may not have been his favourite person for a while there, but a fellow doesn't travel half the world just to forgive the guy that tried to kill him if he doesn't care. You brother fucking loves you, Shimada, and if you don't think that's obvious I don't know what to tell you.”

“Genji, he... That's different...”

“Not really,” said McCree. “If you got up right now and decided to walk off to where Genji's sleeping and shove a sword in his back, d'you think he'd see it coming?”

Every muscle in Hanzo's body was tight as a bowstring, his jaw was clenched and there was horror, _anguish_ in his eyes. He looked like he might punch McCree if McCree wasn't careful, but there was no stopping this now that they'd started.

“'Course he wouldn't, 'cause he trusts you. But look at you. You look like you'd sooner shove a sword in me for suggesting it than turn on your brother. And he's not the only one, sunshine. Angela thinks you're a sweetheart, and you know Winston and Morrison both trust your opinions on the missions we're doing, and that's putting everyone's lives on the line. Lena, Hana, Lúcio... you're one of us, Hanzo, and we're all one big dysfunctional family here. And look, whether or not you want to take me up on that date offer or if you want to just go back to muttering about, I dunno, my eyes or hair or ass or whatever, in Japanese, it's not going to make much of a difference either way. I care about you. And not even just in a 'I-wouldn't-mind-kissin'-you' sorta way. You're my _friend_ , Hanzo. Fuck, we sat on a kitchen floor at midnight gossiping and eating chili, that is about the best sign of friendship I can offer! We both nearly ended up in the infirmary with a cold 'cause we decided to go sharpshooting together in a storm, and I don't risk Angie's wrath for just anyone.”

McCree stopped, trying to find his breath and his thoughts. Slowly he pulled his hand down through his beard, trying to steady his heart which was beating wildly, like he was in the middle of a firefight. Hanzo said nothing.

“Look, Hanzo. You don't get to decide who cares about you. You're in way to deep for that. You're a bit of a grouch, sure, but you're a good person. You care about people, you're loyal, you're _funny_ – and you've got friends here whether you like it or not.”

And that was that. McCree had said his piece. Now there was only to wait and see what Hanzo had to say about it, and–

And McCree stopped dead, his brain short-circuiting. Because Hanzo stood before him, hands pressed in front of his mouth, and what was very unmistakably tears were dropping down his cheeks. This... this was exactly the sort of moment where Zenyatta – or hell, even Genji – was needed. They'd know what to do, McCree was sure. They'd know what to say or do to make Hanzo stop crying – fuck, McCree wasn't even positive what he'd said to warrant tears to _begin_ with. So he faltered and hesitated and eventually placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on Hanzo's arm. Rather than stop the tears though, Hanzo's face twisted as he looked at McCree with someone akin to disbelief, before his eyes screwed shut and the tears just seemed to get _worse_.

“Ah fuck,” said McCree, and he threw caution to the wind. Stepping closer, he pulled Hanzo into a hug and just clung to him, no idea what else he could possibly do.

“You are... You _are_ my friend, McCree. One of the first I've had in a very long time and I don't... I don't want to hurt you,” Hanzo said, in a voice McCree had never heard from him before. It sounded small, scared, resigned.

“Look,” said McCree. “First of all, I don't believe you would. No– I don't. I don't care what sort of history you have. Everything here is different than last time, _you're_ different, and you don't have that family of yours playing with your head.

“But fine, say that there was even the _slightest_ chance you might suddenly lose it and decide to try to kill me. Well, you've seen what I can do; I'm no naive kid, probably never much was. You know that if push came to shove, I can take care of myself. An' frankly, I've got enough folk around calling themselves my friends that I probably wouldn't even have to. Take care of it by myself, I mean. And man, let me tell you, it is still just the strangest feeling, that. A good one, but strange; I'm pretty used to being out on my own. Now, this isn't exactly something I'd normally use as a selling point for a friend or potential date, but, well, I didn't exactly have the coziest upbringing, okay? If you tried to kill me, I wouldn't hesitate, I'd look out for myself. Self-preservation like that, let me tell you it's a hard thing to shake.

“In any case though,” he added, a little desperately because this conversation was been heavy in a way that McCree couldn't bear anymore, “I think we're jumping the gun a bit with this conversation, seeing as you haven't even mentioned how much you like my pretty eyes to my face yet. Normally I save the talk about brutal homicide for the second date. The first I prefer to reserve for, say, coffee about the town. Dinner and a movie, if your feelin' fancy. What'd'ya say?” He gave Hanzo a winsome smile.

Finally, Hanzo stepped back, away from McCree's arms. He didn't go far though, which McCree considered a win. Hanzo looked up at him, his face blotchy from tears and twisted with embarrassment as he scrubbed at his eyes.

“After all this – after seeing me like this – how could you possibly still be interested?”

“But are _you_ interested?” McCree pressed. “Say no, darlin', and I'm gone, promise.”

“I– no. No, I am... interested. Very, _very_ much so. But after seeing me in such a... a _state_...”

“What, thought I'd drop your ass because you needed a chance for a good cry an' a hug?” Then McCree signed, and admitted, “Look, you ain't the only one with baggage, okay? You think after all these years here I've never ended up sitting up at two in the morning crying onto Angela's shoulder or something? Heck, I've cried onto Genji's enough, he could probably give you the dirt if you were looking for it. We've all got issues here. Hell, I mean, you saw what happened with Reyes.”

“Were you and him–?”

“Wha– oh, god, no. No. Reyes was... well, he was something. Not that, but something.” McCree gave a groan and shook his shaggy head. “Ha, see, that's exactly what I mean. Don't know if I want to talk about Reyes right now, or never deal with that particular kettle of fish ever again – it's old enough it's startin' to smell. But, well, you saw me out there when I saw him. Probably would have cost me my life, if it weren't for you.” He gave Hanzo a very significant look. “Look, Overwatch has put me through more than my fair share of bullshit over the years, but if there's one decent thing it taught me it's that it never hurts to have someone in your corner you trust to watch you back. Sure, there's danger involved, was danger involved with having history with Reyes, but it'll as soon get you outta danger as put you in. I'd like to have you in my corner, Hanzo, whatever that means to you. If it means two blokes having late night cooking sessions and makin' sure the other don't get shot up too bad, well, that's fine. If it might mean, oh, say, popping down to town sometime over the next couple evenings for a nice candle lit dinner by the sea... well, I wouldn't be saying no to that either.”

“If you are just saying this to... to humour me, or because you pity this ridiculous situation I put myself in...”

“For the love of god, Shimada!” And enough was enough. There was only so much gabbing a person could do at a moment like this, and McCree had never had a gift for words. So he wrapped his arms around Hanzo's shoulders and stepped forward, pressing his mouth to his.

It was better than McCree had imagined. His imagination wasn't good enough to envision the rasp of Hanzo's beard, or the way his lips would go from parted and shocked to soft and receptive once he realized what was going on. When McCree felt wide, strong hands on his hips, holding him, grounding him, he knew he'd done well.

Without making the slightest move to step away from Hanzo's warm hands, McCree moved his head back just slightly to look down at Hanzo. And Hanzo was beaming up at him. McCree had long since figured out that there was a smile worth a million bucks hidden under the grouchiness and rigidity, figured out at some point between Hanzo laughing at one of McCree's jokes for the first time and when they started to just spend time together, talking about books they'd read and movies they'd liked and anything else that came to mind. And he'd made it a cheerful mission to try to draw it out at every available opportunity. This here was a whole new sort of smile to add to his collection; it made his knees weak to see it directed at him.

“ _A date, we're going on a date,_ ” Hanzo murmured, letting his head drop against McCree's shoulder.

“Yeah, one of those.”

“Ha. You never did answer me before. How long _have_ you spoken Japanese, exactly?”

“Uh, recently enough that I probably wouldn't do it the honour of saying that I can 'speak' it,” said McCree.

“ _So you won't be joining Genji and me as part of the very limited group on base that can speak this language. I have to admit, it is very convenient to have a shared language that can be conversed in without alerting the rest of the team of your intentions._ ”

“Yeeeah, that's exactly what I mean. You, uh, probably wanna take it a bit slower if you want me to understand what you're saying. And use _small_ words. I was taught with a surprisingly specialized vocabulary... which actually makes a lot more sense now than it did at the beginning – here I thought he just had shit taste in anime...” McCree added with a mutter. “Shoulda known anyone that liked Genji would be a schemer.”

“What was that?”

“Nothin'. Look, we could keep talking about my language acquisition skills, or we could possibly try that kissing thing again.”

Hanzo grinned – hadn't really stopped grinning in the past few minutes, but it widened again. “I think I would be amendable to that. ...I feel like I have some making up to do, for a considerably amount of time lost and grief caused.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you have a story populated by a bunch of emotionally constipated idiots? You get a 7k wall of words in which everything that wasn't said is finally, FINALLY getting said.
> 
> One short little epilogue left to be posted. I finished writing it today, so I'll let it sit overnight, edit, then probably have it posted tomorrow unless I suck and don't


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a last short little thing because we all deserve fluff and a bit of closure now that these two finally have their shit together

Sweat dripped down down the back of Hanzo's neck, hair clinging to his face as his lungs heaved. His chest and muscles burned with the exertion, but it was a good, pleasant burn, better even than anything that came from a training room or dojo.

And it helped that Jesse looked that much more disheveled.

With Jesse below him, his red face and hair rumpled with sweat, Hanzo was mesmerized. The way his face moved and his chest rose and fell with breath, the way his arms moved, muscles flexing...

“Yer a dirty cheater, Shimada,” Jesse called as he huffed and puffed his way up the mountain road that wound towards the Watchpoint.

Hanzo, from where he lounged in the shade of an olive tree from the hot Gibraltar sun, smirked.

“You were the one who suggested we race back up to the Watchpoint. You're lucky I chose to stop and wait for you at all.” Genji had always told him he had a competitive streak a mile wide and the thought of willfully doing less than his best in a contest had made gone against every fibre of his being, but in the end he'd found that... well, to be perfectly honest he had been lonely. Never mind that he and Jesse had spent the past four hours together, chatting, laughing, eating... going on a date. _A date_. Still, rather than get lost in the movement of his own body, in the race, and focus on his next step, his next handhold, rather than focus on the demands that awaited him, his mind had been wholly stuck back down the mountain to wherever McCree had been jogging along. The desire to walk with Jesse had outweighed any other desire and he had eventually slowed and settled against the tree to wait for him to catch up.

The sight marching up the mountain to meet him wasn't a half bad compensation either.

“That's only because you were being a smug bastard,” said Jesse, finally catching up and slumping against the tree.

“Yes, because I told you I would win in a race. Which I did.”

“Not at the 'Point yet,” grumbled Jesse, who had now taken off his hat to fan himself. It was a rather half-hearted protestation though. “'Sides, I didn't expect you to _cheat_.”

“The race was to climb the mountain. I climbed the mountain.”

“Yeah, but I figured the fact that the racetrack was the _road_ was implied! Didn't expect you to scale the cliff face like a damn gecko.” He muttered something under his breath that sounded like _damn ninjas_.

Hanzo leaned up in Jesse's space so that his smug smile was only inches from Jesse's face. “If you're jealous, cowboy, then get better than me.”

The satisfaction in watching Jesse's breath catching and his eyes dart down towards Hanzo's mouth which was _very_ close to his own was intoxicating.

“Oh, well,” said Jesse, voice a little breathier than he had probably intended, “can't pretend I'm _that_ jealous. After all, I do like a man with an impressive set of biceps on him, and when I get to be the one reaping the benefits of those biceps, well...”

It was hard to say whether Jesse intended that particular thought to go anywhere, especially given that Hanzo found he didn't care to wait and find out. It was funny – at one point Hanzo had prided himself greatly in his restraint and discipline, but now, around Jesse Jesse, it seemed his impulse control had become very poor indeed. He pressed in hard for a kiss, enjoyed the way Jesse's face was still warm from the exercise, the way his head brushed against the now very familiar hat, the way McCree immediately looped his arms around Hanzo's shoulders until Hanzo found himself tugged into Jesse's lap.

(To be honest, when Hanzo had imaged himself with someone – idle fantasies he had never dreamed he could indulge upon – he had always imagined himself the taller one of the relationship. He was now realizing that that was a grievous oversight on his part because there was no greater pleasure, as it turned out, than being able to press fully against Jesse and be completely surrounded by him.)

Rather than deepen the kiss, Jesse pulled back, scraping his teeth along Hanzo's lip, making him huff, before brushing his face along Hanzo's jaw, then neck, then bared shoulder, beard scratching the whole way down. Hanzo hummed approvingly.

“Well, how's this for a prize for the conquering hero that takes advance of us lesser, non-ninja folk?” asked Jesse from against the taunt junction of Hanzo's neck and shoulder.

“You will owe me twice as much compensation if you give me a mark I can't cover,” Hanzo warned, making Jesse burst out laughing against his shoulder.

“Can't have that,” Jesse agreed. “If you'd rather, you can show me some of the other remarkable things those biceps of yours can do.”  
This was... entirely inappropriate, Hanzo tried to tell himself. It was the middle of the day, they were in public even if this was a road rarely traveled, they were in a _forest_ for god's sake. There was nothing that should be appealing about doing anything that involved lying on the rough, dirty, wildlife-infested ground. Except that the man in front of him (and under him, and around him) had a way of making anything seem appealing, and it was getting surprisingly hard to voice any of these critiques. Especially when his mouth said instead, “Oh? Did you have any suggestions?”

“Yeah, how 'bout you carry me up the rest of that mountain?”

Hanzo gave Jesse a scathing look before standing up and dragging Jesse up after him.

“Lazy,” he admonished.

“Aw, don't be like that, darlin',” said Jesse. “That's hardly fair. I just ran up a mountain! Ah, ah–” said Jesse, before Hanzo could make an affronted rebuttal, “ – _and_ I ate more than you at the restaurant.”

“That's because you kept _stealing my fries._ ”

“Details,” said Jesse with a wave of his hand. “Come on, carry your boyfriend like the beautiful princess he is.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes to the sky but held out his hand. When Jesse took it, Hanzo informed him, “That's the closest you'll get to being carried, so appreciate it.”

Hanzo's heart flip-flopped at the soppy smile Jesse turned back on him as he held onto his hand. “Oh, I think I can do that,” Jesse said.

So hand in hand, they continued up along the twisting road that lead back to the Watchpoint. This date may have meant missing his usual training sessions, but Hanzo found he couldn't bring himself to miss his bow, which was safely stowed away in his locker. Instead, he found that a long walk with Jesse was, perhaps, the best replacement he could have asked for.

“And y'know,” added Jesse, “Lena was talking 'bout finally stocking the kitchen with some ice cream, given that it's hot as hell around here and she's a poor brit that starts to wilt in the sun. Reckon if we get up there before lunch is over we could score some.”

“How are you still hungry?”

“Never said I was hungry, I said I wanted ice cream. There's a difference.”

Hanzo huffed. “You are a ridiculous man.”

“Oh please. Who flirted with me in Japanese for _forever_?”

Flushing now, Hanzo shot Jesse a disdainful look. “You cannot hang that over my head forever.”

“Aw, darlin', I am _never_ gonna stop hanging the fact that you have a big, gross crush on me over your head.”

“Shut up and get me to your ice cream, cowboy.”

-

“ _You know, I'm just saying, if you hate the belt buckle that much, I'm sure we can think of ways to get rid of it for a little while..._ ”

Genji nearly fell off his stool. Well, no, not exactly. It took a moment for the words to process in his head past the atrocious accent but once they did he leapt up like a disgusted cat and spun around, glaring at the entire cafeteria until he spotted a shamelessly smirking McCree.

McCree noticed Genji glaring at him immediately (and his grin widened, the _fucker_ ) but Hanzo's back was to him, and his attention was wholly captured by McCree as he leaned across the table to him.

“ _Oh_ ,” said Hanzo, “ _perhaps you'd best explain this plan to me. In detail._ ”

“ _If you do that McCree I will_ feed you _that belt buckle,_ ” Genji warned, making Hanzo start and McCree laugh.

“Genji!” snapped Hanzo when he turned to find his brother glaring at him from across the room. “Can't you be somewhere else?”

“Somewh– It's not like I broke into your room! Can't you do _that_ somewhere else? Somewhere other than the _lunch room_? I'm trying to eat!”

Hanzo gave Genji's masked face a very pointed look.

“I'm watching _Mei_ eat which is basically the same thing! It still involves food and my brother and...” The noise Genji made at that thought wasn't even remotely feigned. It was genuine disgust that shuddered up his body. He had had a lot of opportunities at this point to turn that expression into an artform.

“Are McCree and Hanzo being gross again?” Mei asked cheerfully from where she was spearing the vegetables on her plate.

“ _Yes_ ,” moaned Genji. “Be grateful that you only ever need to listen to them do it in one language.”

“Aw, come on, Genji, I thought you were supposed to be my friend, my partner, my _wingman_ ,” said McCree. “You should be happy that I snagged the best catch in the place.”

Hanzo chuckled at that, flushed and evidently pleased. A part of Genji could appreciate what McCree did for Hanzo.

...Okay, fine, when he wasn't being a petty younger brother it was a large part that could appreciate it. It was probably something like what McCree's friendship had done for Genji all those years ago. McCree was generous and lavish in his praise. The Shimada clan had always expected hard work in exchange for any scraps of approval; Genji had decided long ago that he wouldn't work for it. Hanzo had never been like him though, and had worked for himself to the bone for that praise, right until the bitter end, had drag himself into the ground to be what was expected of a Shimada heir. Genji wasn't sure Hanzo knew what to do with “unearned” praise, but he seemed to be warming to it enthusiastically.

Still, it'd be nice if it could come in a less... generally _gross_ way. To think that his initial goal had just been to get Hanzo to stop muttering sweet nothings in Japanese to McCree. To think he'd just wanted to get the image of his brother and his friend doing _things_ out of his head. Did that ever backfire. Since... well, whatever it was that _had_ happened between them, both were frustratingly tight-lipped about it and the Watchpoint gossip circle was suffering – since then Hanzo had enthusiastically started to teach McCree Japanese himself. It was strange, to walk into a room and actually hear people speaking Japanese, even if one of them had the thickest American accent Genji had ever heard. It would have been thrilling, honestly, if it weren't for the fact that Hanzo seemed to have spread the bad habit of assuming no one else on the base understood Japanese and that it was safe to say _anything_ in it. Genji was as good as chopped liver to the pair of them once they got going.

“Can't you just hurry up and learn Spanish instead?” Genji asked Hanzo moodily.

Hanzo chuckled and shrugged. “What is the point? McCree wasn't hiding _his_ flirting beneath another language.”

McCree coughed uncomfortable. Hanzo's gaze swiveled.

“ _Were_ you?”

“Ahem. Well. Y'know how it goes. Maybe... once or twice. _Not_ as bad as you though.”

“No one's as bad as my brother,” Genji grumbled.

“When?” demanded Hanzo.

“That's not important!”

“What were you saying?”

“Let's go back to talking about my belt buckle,” said McCree.

“And I'm gone,” said Genji, pushing away from the table. “I'll talk to you later, Mei.”

“If they don't go back to Japanese, I might join you,” she said, but she sounded much more amused and indulgent than Genji about the whole thing. She had to hear a lot less of it though. And she wasn't _related_ to one of them. _Ugh_.

“I'll join you,” said Zenyatta, rising from where he had been sitting with Winston. “Now that everyone else is eating, it would be a wise time to recharge.”

So the two of them left the cafeteria together. Genji supposed it was only fair: if Hanzo was going to be ridiculous with his boyfriend, Genji should get to spend some time with Zenyatta.

“This is all your fault,” he said conversationally as they wandered down the halls towards Zenyatta's room.

Zenyatta chuckled. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“I can't believe I listened to you and that whole 'don't meddle' thing. You're a hypocrite, Master.”

“Please, my student, I am a Shambali monk, a very dignified organization. We do not _meddle_.”

Genji gave him a pointed look... or as pointed as you can manage when your face is completely covered. Fortunately Zenyatta was an expert at Genji's body language by this point.

“Well. I'm not one _anymore_ ,” Zenyatta allowed. “But I did not do anything to _force_ them, or reveal anyone's confidence. I simply helped McCree come by a skill. It was his choice alone that could make use of such a tool.”

“I _have_ always thought Hanzo was a bit of a tool,” Genji agreed, stepping aside when Zenyatta swatted at him. “I am happy for them.”

“I know you are,” said Zenyatta warmly, affectionately.

“...But honestly, could you please teach Hanzo Spanish before I'm forced to do something terrible to them both?”

Zenyatta's laugh rang down the hall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap
> 
> So! let me just say thank you!! I know I've repeated it a hundred times over in the comments, but seriously, thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read this entire thing, to everyone who started from when I posted the first chapter and patiently waited for my procrastinating ass, and to the people who jumped in recently and read through the backlog, and to anyone reading it in the future.
> 
> Seriously, I have never had so much response to a fic I've written and call me vain but you've all!! made me feel so wonderful!! about writing this fic!! So an especially huge thank you to everyone that left comments for me, I love each and every one of you!
> 
> also [shameless plug] I do have a tumblr -- benevolenterrancy, just like it is here -- for my fics and art and stuff if anyone's interested :3 I'm always game for talking headcanons and fandom with people


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